


Taken

by Killercereal



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25281154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killercereal/pseuds/Killercereal
Summary: Retired government operative Santana Lopez is slightly overprotective when it comes to her daughter, Sugar. When Sugar is kidnapped while on vacation, Santana teams up with her old CIA partner to get her back; no matter who or what gets in their way. Based on the movie Taken. Taken!Brittana
Relationships: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

One day I put the TV on and a film was just starting and it was Taken and I loved the shit out of it so I put it together with my favourite thing and here we are. Taken. Brittana style.  
Taken was originally written by Luc Besson and Robert Mark Kamen, and thanks to them for such a brilliant film.

Warning. This fic is not my normal comedy fic. It will contain a lot of violence and upsetting scenes which upset me just by writing the damn things. Seriously, it will get upsetting. Basically do not fuck with my favourite characters.

Taken

Part 1

Santana squinted at the hand of cards she'd been dealt and shuffled them around to her liking. She whistled when she saw Puck place his wager on the table. "Twenty bucks, can you afford to lose that much?"

"Twenty bucks and when you lose you have to tell us how much progress you've made with the missus," he retorted.

"Puck!" Quinn warned. "We're working."

"Oh c'mon," Puck appeared almost sympathetic. "I just want to know how it's going."

"It's not going, so just shut up," Santana snapped at him. "Fifty bucks and you shut up for the rest of the night."

"Done!" Quinn said as she slammed her cards down and wiped them all out.

Luckily for Puck, Santana's phone rang at that moment distracting her but she made sure to slap the back of his head as she left the room to take the call.

"You stupid idiot, what did you have to bring her up for?" Quinn asked as she counted her winnings.

"I just ship it, okay?" he whined rubbing his head where Santana had smacked him. "It's not right any more."

"She knows it isn't right. You don't need to rub her nose in it."

Outside in the corridor Santana shoved her finger in her right ear as she tried to drown out the noise of the concert blaring from the nearby stage and focus on her caller.

"Hey, honey," she half shouted into the phone with a smile. "Is everything all right? Good. You recognise this song? Yeah, I'm at her concert. What? No! As if, Sug. I'm not 'at' at the show. Har har. I'm on the security team. Of course I've met her. Who do you think is guarding her?" Santana laughed into her phone. "I'm happy you called. Yeah. Lunch tomorrow? I'll be there."

The noise of the crowd got louder and the music faded away.

"Santana! It's almost finished. We're up," Quinn and Puck exited the break room and donned their security imprinted jackets on their way to the stage. Santana caught the jacket Puck threw at her and shouted down the line. "I said I'll be there. I love you!"

The back door to the April Rhodes Arena opened and a wave of noise washed over the small group of people who exited the building along with flashing lights and a sharp smack of cold night air.

Santana stayed close to her mark, guiding the young singer she was guarding that evening away from the crowd of overzealous fans behind the barred gateway at the backstage door and away from the paparazzi.

"This way, Ms Jones," she said, putting her body in between the girl and a fan who had wormed his way under a crowd control barrier. Puck was on the breakaway fan in a heartbeat, dragging away the screaming curly haired boy. "I love you, Mercedes!"

Mercedes' showbiz smile dipped for a second and she gladly stuck close to her guard as she was led away from the pack of vultures all wanting a piece of her.

"It's okay," Santana said, noticing her charge had tensed up. "We're nearly at the car."

They both turned at the sound of a scream and witnessed the barred gate which separated them from the general arena slam open, crashing with a metallic clang into the breeze-blocked wall beyond. Someone had neglected to lock it. Almost immediately there was a tidal wave of bodies all screaming and shouting in their desire to get closer to their idol, singing sensation, Mercedes Jones.

Security guards rushed to contain the crowds but were overwhelmed by the force of the charging fanatics and a couple got through running full pelt at their idol. Puck and Quinn, never far away from Mercedes, dropped them to the ground in an instant while Santana led a shaking Mercedes away as the neutralised threats groaned on the floor with the pain from sharp elbows to the face.

"Let's go, come on."

Santana had her arm around Mercedes' shoulder as they entered the crew's parking lot. Visually scanning the lot still crowded with crew vehicles, Santana hurriedly led Mercedes towards her car. There was no warning before a large shadow stepped out silently from behind a pillar directly along their path. Santana shoved Mercedes behind her as a blade flicked out from the attacker's fist, the handle concealed in his palm, and moved towards them.

Without pausing Santana charged at him grabbing his wrist which held the knife while simultaneously kneeing him in the solar plexus. She wrenched his arm around behind his back and felt his arm crack forcing him to drop the knife. He screamed in agony before a chop to the throat dropped him to the floor and shifted his attention on trying to breathe rather than his previous intended target.

Santana kicked the knife away towards Quinn who was running towards them having escaped the mad crowd rush which had been contained. "I got him, go!" she yelled pulling out handcuffs and apprehending the assailant.

Santana pulled Mercedes up from where she had huddled herself against the pillar and led her into the car, telling the driver to step on it.

Once they were free from the arena and out onto the open road Santana gave a sigh of relief and turned to check on the singer, who. in the safety and silence of the car had begun to shake.

"Here, drink this." Santana opened the mini bar and pulled out a soda. "It'll take the edge off." Mercedes managed a couple of sips before she broke down. Santana held her as she cried offering reassuring words.

"It's okay, you're safe. It's okay."

Later that night, with the singer finally safely in her hotel room, Santana collected her pay. It was handed to her by Quinn in a small manilla envelope complete with a free smirk.

"You sure you don't want to join us full time?"

Puck slapped her on the shoulder. "Yeah, Rambo. The old team back together. Don't pretend you didn't miss the rush, the adrenaline."

"It's not the old team though, is it?" Santana scowled into her envelope. Quinn and Puck exchanged a look.

"Look," Puck tried. "Sugar will be off to college in a year, then what?"

"Then that gives me a year to do my best."

"Ms Lopez?" One of Mercedes' assistants interrupted them. "She'd like to see you." Santana followed the assistant to the singer's hotel suite.

"How are you feeling?" Santana asked as the singer appeared in a bathrobe and her hair wrapped in a towel.

Mercedes replied with a grimace, she didn't want to talk about it. "Thank you, for everything."

"You're welcome, Ms Jones. I'm just doing my job."

"If there's anything I can ever do for you," Mercedes offered sincerely, handing Santana her card.

"Well..." Mercedes looked up with interest. "Actually... I have a teenage daughter. She wants to be a singer, has done since she was five, and I was wondering, is there any advice you could give her?"

Mercedes considered the woman in front of her for a moment before answering. "It's not all glamorous like everyone thinks it is. It's a lot of hotels and airports."

"It's what she wants," Santana gave a one shouldered shrug.

"Here," Mercedes took the card back off her and scribbled down two phone numbers. "This is the number of my vocal coach, Shelby. If she says she's good enough then she will get her the coaching she needs and the fee is on me. The second number is my manager. He'll make sure she gets a fair shot."

Santana looked astounded at the card. "Thank you. So much."

"No, Ms Lopez. Thank you."

Santana beamed as Sugar skipped through the café to sit with her. As she sat down after a giant bear hug Santana pushed the pre-ordered drink towards Sugar. "One raspberry banana milkshake with extra cherries, just the way you like it."

"Thanks, Mom," Sugar grinned at her and took a sip.

Santana's smile faltered as Sugar's companion came into view. "Britt, um, I didn't know you were coming. Do you want anything?"

"I asked her to come," said Sugar while Brittany shook her head at the offer and sat down.

Santana immediately felt self conscious and wished she'd spent more time getting her hair looking good that morning. Brittany just sat back and let Sugar do her thing.

"So, Mom, guess what?" Sugar started, more excited than usual and then began chattering away without leaving space for Santana to reply. "You know my friend Kitty? Well, her cousins asked her to spend a months vacation with them in Paris. How cool is that?"

Santana stared at her and didn't blink. Where was this headed? "Uh, cool, I guess."

"And she asked if I wanted to go with her."

Ah, that's where this is headed. Santana felt Brittany's eyes on her. "Why do you want to go to Paris?"

"Uh, hello? It's Paris fashion week. And you know I have every copy of French Vogue from since it began in 1920 and almost every Elle since 1945." Sugar took in her mother's bemused demeanour and went for a more learned tack. "And Kitty went to stay with them last summer and when she got back she could practically speak French."

"That's one week. What about the other three and half weeks of your break?"

"You know, art and culture and learning and stuff." Brittany had to look away at the look on Santana's face for fear of laughing as it scrunched up more and more. "Like The Louvre, Picasso museum-"

"I didn't know you were into art," Santana said, confused at this new revelation.  
"Are you kidding me? Fashion is art."  
Santana looked thoroughly unimpressed and looked to Brittany who just rolled her eyes.  
"And you're asking me because you need both parents' permission because you're under eighteen... Sugar... I'm not completely stupid. You would shrivel up and die if you took one step inside a museum."  
Sugar winced. "Okay, we are going to fashion week but then we're going to follow Beyonce on tour around Europe, starting in Paris. Mom's booked us into all the best hotels, it's totally safe. Mom, please! I really want to go and they've got this sick apartment overlooking the river-"

"Just you and Kitty..."

"And her cousins."

"Don't make a big deal out of it, Santana." Brittany spoke up finally and pushed a few pieces of paper across the table to her. "Just sign the paper."

Santana stared at the paper well aware of the expectation surrounding her. "I'm not comfortable with this," Santana said eventually, breaking the silence.

"Mom!" Sugar groaned.

"I know the world, Sweetie-"

"Mom, please-" Sugar begged.

"I don't think a seventeen year old should be travelling alone."

"I'm not going to be alone!"

"Two seventeen year olds."

"Kitty is nineteen!"

There was another pause. Santana sighed, Sugar was doing the puppy dog eyes.

"How about if I go along? You wont even know I'm there." Sugar slumped back and huffed into her chair. "I'm very good at being invisible."

"Yes, we already noticed," Brittany glared at her.

Santana looked hurt. Okay that might have been true for most of Sugar's life but she was trying to make up for it now. She turned to Sugar who was pouting, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Santana looked away and muttered. "I'll think about it."

"Oh, Santana, everyone at this table knows what that means," Brittany said, exasperated as Sugar got more upset by the second.

"Hey Sug, there's something else-" Santana reached into her jacket inside pocket and began to pull out Mercedes Jones' card.

"I don't want anything else," Sugar sobbed and ran out of the café. Santana stared guiltily after her and eyed the form in front of her.

Brittany watched her resignedly. "All you had to do was say yes. I don't get you."

"What?" Santana snapped at her.

"You sacrificed our marriage and made a mess of your life for the service of your country. Can't you stop being so stubborn, this one time, for your own daughter?"

"I would sacrifice anything for her."

"Then what is your problem?"

"I am not comfortable putting our daughter at risk. I'm not about to let my teenage daughter go to a different continent on her own. It's dangerous."

"The whole world is dangerous, Santana. That doesn't mean she shouldn't have to miss out on all the good things in the world because of it. Crossing the street is dangerous. And we're talking about Paris and major European cities, not some middle eastern war zone."

"You know as well as I do what the world is like."

"And so should she, which she never will unless she goes out and experiences it herself." Brittany hesitantly reached over the table as though she were about to take Santana's hand then thought better of it. "Listen, I know you moved here to build a relationship with Sugar but you're not going to do that by smothering her. Let her live or I promise you will lose her, and I don't want that for either of you."

Santana sat back from to maintain some kind of distance from Brittany and scowled fiercely. "Don't use that psychology shit on me."

"You're so goddamn stubborn, Santana," Brittany sighed. "Even when it's ruining your life." She shook her head in exasperation and walked out after her distraught daughter leaving a forlorn looking Santana clutching a creased business card.

Sugar opened the door, her hair was a mess and an unhappy pout marred her features. She raised a daring eyebrow at the caller. She frowned at her mother who was anxiously slapping a rolled up piece of paper in her palm.

"Three conditions."

Sugar's eyes widened and she froze; her mother was notorious for her conditions.

"I want the address and phone number of where you're staying. If you move I want to know where and who you'll be staying with. You call me when you land and every night before you go to sleep from this phone," she held up a brand new mobile. "It's international and my number is programmed in. Sugar," she said warningly.

"Yes?" Sugar stopped jumping up and down.

"You're not focused, come here." Santana rested her forehead on Sugar's to calm the girl down. "Listen, focus. If you don't call me I will be on the next flight to Paris and I will break down the door and demand to know why you didn't call. I'm not kidding, Sugar, I will be on the plane." She kissed Sugar on the forehead. Sugar wrapped her arms around her mother and hugged her tightly.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, baby. There's one last thing. I get to drive you to the airport."

"Okay," she beamed at her mother.

Santana's eyes widened as Sugar screamed for Brittany right next to her ear.

"I'm going to call Kitty!" Sugar ran into the house then back out again and threw herself at her mother crushing her lungs and the permission form. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she yelled, turned and hugged Brittany who was now standing behind her at the door, turned and hugged Santana again and then ran off dialling Kitty and screeching down the phone at her best friend.

"Thank you," Brittany smiled leaning on the door frame.

"Yeah well. What kind of summer would it be if I didn't spend it worried sick about her? Wouldn't want to miss out on all that fun for anything."

"There's Kitty!" Sugar waved to her friend who was in the line for security checks at LAX.

Santana's eyes drifted around the departures lounge as she observed all the travellers. Families, college kids, busy looking people in business attire travelling alone, security guards keeping an eye out for suspicious behaviour. Her eyes landed back on a three college boys, two of whom were shoving each other into a pile of their luggage the third was eyeing up Sugar in her tight jeans and leather jacket.

"I'll be right back," Santana muttered, going to give the boys a piece of her mind but before she could get two steps away Brittany pulled her back.

"Didn't you have some important things you wanted to go through with Sugar?"

"Oh, um, yeah," Santana said, and focused on her daughter. "Hey, wait, is that my jacket?"

"It fits perfectly," Sugar grinned cheekily and wrapped the black leather tighter around herself. Santana let out a hmpf and let it drop.

"Right, listen carefully. Call us when you land. Straight from the airport, no waiting until you get to the apartment. From the airport. Repeat it."

"From the airport."

"Are you absolutely certain that you have everything? Tickets, passport, hotel reservations, insurance documents, credit card, back up credit card, Euros, phone, phone charger, plug adaptor, credit, I spoke to the provider and you're on their international service for the next month. Guide book, phrase book, camera-"

"Mami, jeez. We've been through this every day for the past two weeks. I am ready. I have everything."

"Now, there are certain areas of Paris you should avoid. I've written them down," Santana fumbled in her jacket pocket for a sheet of paper.

Sugar executed a familiar eye-roll and Brittany tried to hide her grin. "Mom, I'm going to be up to my eyeballs in fashion. You don't have to worry."

"That's like telling water not to be wet," Brittany snorted.

Santana glared at both of them. "Just humour me."

Sugar took the proffered paper with a smile. "Thanks, Mom."

Brittany's phone rang interrupting them. Santana caught a glimpse of the caller ID and her nose twitched involuntarily. Sugar tugged her to the side as Brittany answered.

"Mom said your job made you paranoid. I asked her what you did and she said to ask you, but I was afraid I might not like the answer. Are you sure you're not in the Mafia? You can tell me."

"Sugar, I don't know how many times I have to tell you, I do not work for the Mafia, I have never worked for the Mafia." She looked around then spoke quietly. "I worked for the government, I was a preventer. My job made me aware, that's all."

"What did you prevent?"

"My partner and I prevented bad things from happening."

Santana watched over Sugar's shoulder as Brittany wandered over to a security guard tucking her phone into her pocket after the short phone call.

"What happened to your partner?" Sugar asked curiously, never having delved this deeply into her mother's mysterious work before now.

"Oh, you know," Santana gave a wry grin. "She married some idiot, and then left to raise a family. She knew when to quit and didn't look back."

"Do you miss it all? Your job?"

"I missed you more."

Sugar leaned in and hugged her mother tightly. "I'm glad you moved to LA," she murmured into her mom's shoulder.

Brittany joined them with a soft smile and ruffled Sugar's hair fondly much to her daughter's annoyance. While Sugar tried to fix her hair Santana watched out of the corner of her vision with poorly disguised amusement as a small security team came and pounced on the college boys and sniffer dogs stuck their snouts in inappropriate places. She smirked and looked at Brittany who avoided her gaze.

"Remember, Honey, be good and if you can't be good, be good at it."

"Britt!" Santana looked scandalised.

"What?"

"Don't give her ideas! Sugar, don't do anything I wouldn't- no wait. Um, have a great time."

"Don't forget to use protection."

"Britt!"

"What?"

Brittany swallowed the lump in her throat which had suddenly appeared while Santana sniffled pathetically at her side. Sugar's chuckle was suspiciously choked as she hugged her parents tightly. "I love you," she squeaked out.

"Love you too," they both returned and watched as Sugar headed over to security check area with her carry on bag.

"Sugar!" Brittany called out. Sugar turned back to face her parents. "Don't come back with more luggage than you left with," she warned. Sugar laughed and waved again without giving a reply.

"Oh, poor France. It wont know what's hit it," Brittany murmured quietly.

"She looks so small," Santana whimpered as Sugar disappeared into the crowd of passengers.

"Our little baby girl. She's all grown up." Brittany sighed.

"Yeah. It's seems like yesterday I was bringing you both home from the hospital," Santana stared off to the last place she had seen Sugar.

They both stood there looking past the airport's security area with matching forlorn expressions.

"Umm," Santana turned to face Brittany. "Do you want to go get a coffee... or something?" she trailed off as she looked at Brittany. She cleared her throat. "Or not. I can just drop you back home."

"Actually, I'll just get a cab."

"What? No, Britt. I brought you here, I can drop you off, it's no trouble."

"I've got stuff to do so I'll just get a cab," Brittany insisted.

"Oh, I see. My own wife cant bear to be in a car with me unless Sugar is there as a barrier, is that it?"

"Ex-wife, Santana..." Brittany looked at her sadly. "I have to go."

"Fine, go on. Wouldn't want to keep Sam waiting," Santana muttered darkly as she watched her ex-wife walk away.

Sugar and Kitty exited the airport arrivals lounge giggling and shoving each other het up with excitement. Sugar pushed a cart with the maximum amount of luggage Brittany had let her get away with taking.

"I'll teach you all the French I know," Kitty giggled, "Which isn't much but, you know." She guided Sugar towards the taxi rank.

"Here, your first photo in Paris," Kitty snapped a shot of Sugar in front of the taxi sign leaning on her mountain of designer luggage. "Take one of me!"

"May I help, Ladies?" A French accent came from behind them. They turned to see a good looking young man behind them in the line smile and offer, "Would you like me to take a photo of the two of you?"

"Sure," Kitty smirked hungrily at him after eyeing him appraisingly and noting his designer tan leather jacket and a smart shoulder bag. She handed him the camera phone and then slung her arm around Sugar and whispered, "He's really cute," in her ear.

He snapped a picture of them. "There you go. Very nice," and returned the device with a friendly smile.

"Thank you."

"Where are you girls from?" he asked politely.

"California," Kitty answered.

Sugar eyed him pityingly as he broke out into song and sang a line of the Beach Boys hit 'California Girls' to them. Kitty giggled.

"I am Brody," he said with a smile after they laughed at his singing. Kitty cleared her throat and prepared to dazzle him with her blinding knowledge of the French language.

"Je 'mapelle Kitty. And ummm... this is Sugar."

They all laughed at her attempt and Brody smiled. "Nice to meet you." He looked around. "Um are you going into Paris?"

A familiar voice flashed through Sugar's head and she leaned into her luggage and watched while Kitty answered.

"Oui," Kitty giggled, batting her eyelashes.

"Well, the taxis here are so damned expensive," Brody said with his smarmy accent. "Want to share?"

Kitty didn't even look Sugar's way before answering. "Sure!"

Sugar looked unsure but managed a smile and followed her friends lead. "Would you be able to help with my luggage?" she smiled winningly at him.

"Um, of course," said Brody, and Sugar and Kitty watched with differing measures of appreciation as Brody manhandled their mountain of bags into the back of the waiting taxi.

In LA Santana collected her take away meal for one and walked out of the Chinese restaurant with her phone to her ear. An automated voice told her - "Flight 228 arrived in Paris, Charles de Gaulle at 8am local time." Santana frowned and hung up. Sugar hadn't called her yet.

The taxi pulled up in an affluent suburb of Paris and the girls got out along with Brody who then helped them unload their luggage. Sugar noted curiously the cab driving off without Brody.

"Nice address," he whistled, looking around the old Parisian street and the expensive looking apartment buildings.

"Oh thanks," said Kitty. "It's actually my cousins', but they're away for the summer so we have the place to ourselves. How cool is that?"

Another warning flashed through Sugar's head. Don't give out information, her mother's voice warned.

"I didn't know that," Sugar said quietly aside to Kitty.

"It's no biggie," Kitty shrugged her concern off.

Sugar got that sinking feeling her mother wouldn't be too pleased when she found out. And she would find out. She always found out.

"I have to be going," Brody said. "It was nice to meet you."

"You too," said Sugar, relieved he was fucking off and began to tug her luggage into the building.

"Um, you know what?" He turned back to them. "There is a cool party tonight if you want to come?"

"Sure, yeah," said Kitty excitedly.

"We don't even know him," Sugar warned. "He might be a weirdo or some skanky junkie. He might live in his mother's basement or he might be into taxidermy. We don't even know if he wears socks."

"What is there to know? He's hot."

"I will come pick you up, around nine?" Brody offered.

"Okay, great," Kitty giggled.

"Um, your address? Which apartment?"

"The whole fifth floor," said Kitty.

"Okay great," Brody said with a grin. "I will see you tonight." And he walked off pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Hello." He said a street name in French when he was out of earshot. "Fifth floor. Yes, two girls around eighteen. They're alone."

"Oh. My. God." Sugar gasped and then squealed as she saw the filthy rich apartment they'd be staying in. "How cool is this? Oh my god!" She screamed "This is awesome!"

"I know, right?" Kitty laughed and then flopped onto the couch.

Sugar looked around and then deflated a bit at her thoughts. "I just wish you'd told me your cousins weren't going to be here."

"What's the big deal, Sugar. So what?"

"I told my mom they'd be here."

"You told your mom you were going to museums too. Oh come on, she's not going to know." Kitty sighed at the unhappy look on Sugar's face. She lay back and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I'm going to sleep with him."

"Who?" Sugar asked.

"Brody."

"You just met him!"

"I hear French guys are amazing in bed. Maybe he has a friends, huh?"

"Uh, no."

"Come on, you've got to lose it some time, might as well be in Paris."

Kitty hopped over to the stereo nearby and turned on some rock music blasted out she started jumping madly around the room to Sugar's amusement.

"I have to pee," Sugar indicated with her body language making Kitty laugh and then she pointed the direction of the bathroom.

On top of her bag dumped at the door Sugar's phone rang unheard by the girls over the loud music.

In the pitch blackness of the Pierce residence the bedside clock read 02:00am. Brittany grunted into her pillow then smashed her hand over her alarm clock. When the noise didn't stop the customised ringtone became clear she leaned over and picked up her flashing cell phone. She squinted at the screen.

"What?" her voice was husky, thick with sleep.

"It's me. Has Sugar called you yet?"

"Santana. She is seventeen and she's in Paris. Give her some space, she'll call. Take a sleeping pill, have a drink or something. Goodnight." And she hung up.

"Goodnight," Santana huffed and slumped onto a chair in her apartment. She dialled Sugar's number again and perked up when this time the call was answered.

"Sugar?"

Loud music blasted down the line. "Hang on!" Sugar shouted as she tried to find a quieter room in the apartment. "Hi Mom," she said walking down a quieter corridor.

"What did I say? You were supposed to call me when you landed," Santana said sternly.

"I'm sorry,"

"I thought something was wrong with the phone."

"No, it was just such a rush at the airport," Sugar continued wandering the building looking for somewhere peaceful to speak.

"All right," said Santana. "Well, of course if I had the number of the place you're staying I would have just called there. What's the number?"

Sugar found a quiet bathroom overlooking a courtyard. Across the courtyard she could see Kitty through the window opposite jumping around on the couch and rocking out with an air guitar.

"I don't have it," she said sullenly.

"Sugar, come on, this is one of the conditions. Let me talk to one of the cousins I'll get it from them."

Sugar leaned against the window sill and watched Kitty who had let her down. "They're in Spain," she said quietly. "I didn't know, Mom, I swear!" She said clearly upset.

"In Spain?" Santana said tersely. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Sugar watched Kitty unhappily, upset with her friend and upset with herself for letting her mom down.

As she watched, without forewarning, a man appeared in the room with Kitty went straight for the girl and grabbed her around the waist. Sugar stepped back from the window in shock and peered around the corner. There were now two men in there.

"There's someone here," she gasped.

"The cousins are back?" Santana asked.

"No," Sugar said in a shaky voice as she watched the men both tried to pin Kitty's arms and legs. She could hear her friend scream over the music.

"Oh my god. They've got Kitty."

"What are you talking about, Sugar?" Santana demanded, getting worried.

"Mom!"

"Sugar?" Santana was frantic as Sugar cried down the phone.

"Mom, they took her!"

Sugar hid out of view of the window and cried a strangled "No!" in the phone. Kitty was gone. Santana ran for a briefcase she kept in her apartment and opened it as she ached from hearing Sugar crying down the phone. Santana's jaw clenched.

"All right. Listen to me. Did you meet anyone on the plane?"

"No."

"At the airport?"

"No. Wait, yes. Brody."

"Brody who?"

"I don't know."

Santana opened the case which contained a stash of cash, a selection of different nationality passports, a gun and a recording device. She pulled out the recorder and attached it to her phone setting up mini speakers and recording the conversation on speaker phone.

"American?"

"No."

"Did he know where you were staying?"

Sugar sobbed. "He took a cab with us." She watched as the men searched the room over the courtyard. "Mom, they're coming," she whimpered. "Mom, please, I'm scared." Sugar's sobs rent down the phone-line.

"I know you are. Stay focused, Sug. You have to hold it together. How many people are there? Be precise."

"Three, four? I don't know."

"Where are you?"

"In the bathroom."

"Go to the next bedroom. Get under the bed and tell me when you're there."

Santana bit her lip so hard it bled as listened to Sugar's breath hitch with crying as she moved to the next room. Sugar snaked under the bed and held the phone to her ear.

"I'm here."

"Now, the next part is very important."

Sugar listened to the sounds of doors opening and footsteps in the apartment getting closer to her.

Santana closed her eyes. "They're going to take you."

Santana's heart clenched in her chest at the sound of the choked whimper coming down the phone line. "Sugar, stay focused, baby. This is the key. You will have five maybe ten seconds. Very important seconds. Leave the phone on the floor. Concentrate. Shout out everything you can see them. Hair colour, eye colour, tall, short, scars. Anything you can see. You understand?"

Sugar couldn't reply she was so upset she was shaking.

"No matter what happens, Sugar, I am coming to get you," Santana promised. "You just have to hold on in there."

Sugar looked up at the sound of floorboards creaking.

"They're there," Santana said quietly down the line to her. "I can hear them. Remember, concentrate."

The door to the room Sugar was hiding in opened and she watched their boots in silence as they walked in and around the bed. They spoke in a foreign language which Santana listened to closely.

"Put the phone closer so I can hear," she said softly to Sugar who complied with a shaking hand. Immediately their voices become clearer to Santana. Sugar gulped as she watched their feet walk back to the door and leave the room. She held the phone back to her ear.

"They're leaving," she whispered. "I think they're-"

With a piercing scream Sugar was pulled by her feet out from under the bed dropping the handset so it remained hidden.

Thousand's of miles away Santana sat frozen in horror listening to her daughter's screams and struggles over the phone line. She sat forward as all of a sudden Sugar's screams turned to comprehensible words and she yelled out distinguishing features to her mother.

"Beard! Six feet! You bastard." There was the sound of a grown man yelping and then a groan. "Tattoo, right hand, moon and star."

Santana twitched uncontrollably at the sound of glass breaking and Sugar's went quiet. She listened to the sound of someone moving and then breathing over the phone. She picked up her handset and held it to her ear.

"I don't know who you are," she said with deadly intent into the phone. "I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my daughter go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you.

There was a resounding silence for a few moments.

"Good luck," a thickly accented voice sneered then the line went dead.

Next chapter: Brittana


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings again. Please be aware this is not my usual comedy fic. This chapter contains scenes people may find upsetting. Email me if you want to know more about it before reading.

Taken

Part 2

Santana dropped the phone and stared at it for a couple of seconds. Then moved.

She swept everything into her briefcase and ran for her car hitting speed dial number three on her phone as she jumped into the vehicle. Plugging her phone into the stand connecting it to the car the ringing tone rang out through the car's sound system. She sped out into the city running every red light that tried to stop her.

"Quinn, it's me. I need a favour. I'm going to send you an audio file and I need it analysed. Right now."

She tapped a couple of buttons her eyes flickering from the road to the display screen until the audio recording of the phone call she had made with Sugar was flying through cyberspace.

Eleven point four minutes later Santana pulled up at Brittany's house, (a new world record) and hammered at the door until a bleary eyed Brittany opened it with a baseball bat gripped tightly in her hands.

For a split second Santana allowed herself to be relieved that Brittany was alone or she wouldn't have known what to do if that trout mouthed fuckface had been there. Although according to Sugar he hadn't darkened their doorstep and it wasn't serious, they'd only been on one date. She didn't ask, okay? Sugar offered the information without prompting. She was reliable like that.

"Which room is Sugar's?

"What's happened?" Brittany asked immediately on edge from the rude awakening and Santana looking absolutely stricken in the middle of the night in her house.

"I got a call from her about twenty minutes ago. There were people in the apartment, she was taken."

Brittany followed her into Sugar's bedroom and watched in shock as Santana tore the place apart looking for clues. She found a diary and flicked through it. Nothing.

Santana looked over at shell-shocked Brittany her heart breaking again at the sight. Her phone rang and she snatched it up and set it on Sugar's desk switching to speaker phone.

"Quinn. What have you got?"

"They were speaking Albanian. Based on their accents and dialects they must be from the town of Tropoja."

Santana looked over at Brittany who was listening intently, her face white, her lips thin and severe.

"The place is ground zero for scummers. Even the Russians give these guys a wide berth. The one you spoke to, his name is Hunter. We have intel that a mobster boss by the name of Hunter Hoxha moved to Paris about six months ago. If he's the one, he's big fish. The tattoo is a group id. Am I on speaker or are you by yourself?"

"Speaker. Britt's here."

"Hey Britt," Quinn said softly.

"Hi Quinn."

"Tell her, Q."

"The speciality of the groups coming out of this area is trafficking in women."

There was a terrible silence. The baseball bat in Brittany's hands clattered on the desk top with a clatter.

"Keep going," said Santana.

"Their previous MO was to offer women from emerging eastern European countries like Yugoslavia, Romania, Bulgaria, jobs in the west as maids or nannies. Once they had smuggled them in they'd addict them to drugs and turn them into prostitutes. Lately however they've decided that it is," Quinn could be heard taking a deep breath over the line, "more economical just to kidnap travelling young women."

"Oh my god."

Santana ran to Brittany as she threw up. She tucked back her long blonde hair over her shoulder and held her tight as she shook in her arms. Brittany clutched at her as she asked, "What else, Quinn?"

"Based on what else we know about the way these groups operate our analyst says you have a 96 hour window from when she was grabbed."

"96 hours until what?" asked Santana.

"To never finding her again."

"No," Brittany sobbed into Santana's neck.

"I'll get her back," Santana insisted, wrapping her arms around Brittany's shoulders holding on to her for dear life. "I promise."

"I got you on flight 228 in 65 minutes."

"Quinn-" Brittany began to speak.

"Already booked you on it, Britt."

"Thank you." Brittany's cool, quiet voice reached Quinn down the line.

Brittany detached herself from Santana's embrace. Her hands slid down Santana's arms and she tangled their fingers together. "I'm going with you."

"Are you sure?" Santana asked her in a hushed voice, watching warily as Brittany's expression hardened.

"I was in the agency for eleven years, Santana. I'm not about to sit idly by while my daughter is kidnapped."

Santana glanced over at the photo Sugar kept in a frame on her desk. Sugar and her moms at the beach. A whole family, happy together.

"You haven't been active for years."

"That doesn't mean that I am not a heavily skilled operative who can kill you with just her pinky."

"You should let me take care of this."

"What, and wait by the phone for you to never call me while my wife and daughter are in danger?"

"Ex-wife," Santana corrected quietly. "Britt, I'm sorry," she said as Brittany took a step away from her.

"Don't you 'Britt' me," Brittany glared at her. "I happily left the agency to raise our daughter because she is the most important thing in the whole world and that is why I am going to find her. Once upon a time we were the greatest two shot the agency had ever seen. Want to see if we've still got it?"

Santana stared at her, she looked astounded at the accusation they might not possibly still be awesome together.

"Of course we've still got it. I'm Santana and you're Brittany. There's nothing better than that."

"Fine then."

"Fine."

I am Santana Lopez. I can kill you with my bare hands. I spent twenty five years hounding, harassing, chasing and bringing the beat-down to scum the world over. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen is sitting opposite me and I'm trying so hard not to stare that it's making my underboob sweat.  
I'm going to get our daughter back.

Quinn somehow got them on a private plane to Paris. The cabin was empty aside from the two of them and the solitary flight attendant who was having the easiest flight of her life as her charges asked for nothing but 'to not be disturbed'.

Santana had taken to playing the terrible recording over and over again clicking her phone and pressing play every three seconds. It had turned into a nervous habit as her arm flicked in the air to reset the audio.

"Good luck. Good luck. Good luck," was repeated constantly until the words became engrained in her mind.

"Would you please stop playing that?" Brittany asked from where she sat opposite her, dressed in a dark turtle neck and a leather jacket with dark jeans and long brown boots. Her hair was tied back in a tight high ponytail. Santana thought she looked beautiful, and very distracting. That was one reason she wouldn't look at her. Santana switched off the audio player and stared out of the window.

My name is Brittany Pierce. I can kill you with my pinky finger. I spent eleven years terrorising terrorists, destroying drug cartels, making grown men cry, and striking fear into the hearts of hardened criminals all while romancing the toughest most stubborn goof the world has ever known.  
I'm going to get our daughter back.

Every mission had a mantra. Something to remind Brittany of her humanity and this was as real as it got. This shook her to the core, but if anyone could get Sugar back, it was her and Santana as a team. They always worked better as a team.

Brittany spent the past three hours watching Santana pretend not to watch her. They hadn't spoken much to each other. After all they'd been through together and what they were going through now, what was there to say?

The last time they had sat in heartbroken silence together was another plane ride, years ago. Santana hadn't looked at her once during the whole flight that time.  
It had taken Brittany almost a month to find Santana in Siberia. Brittany wasn't sure that Santana had even understood the lengths she had gone to just to serve her those divorce papers. Okay, Santana Lopez was not an easy person to track down even if they are-were-married, but still, a little appreciation.  
And once she did find her, Santana had calmly asked her to untie her from the freaking meat hook she was dangling from! Which Brittany had done of course, but there wasn't even a please or thank you attached to the request. Just, "Dammit, Brittany, get me down so we can discuss whatever it is you wanna discuss!" Then once they made it to safety Brittany had handed her those documents and all Santana had said was, "Okay."  
Okay is bullshit though. None of it was okay. Especially not the part where Santana gave up on their family so easily.

Santana's anxieties shone through as her leg shook as she tried not to tap her foot against the ground bursting for something constructive to do. Anything that wasn't sitting on a plane for eight hours. Eight hours down time out of ninety six.  
Brittany went and sat down next to her and laid her hand on Santana's thigh in an attempt to calm her. Santana shot up out of her seat.

"Can this plane go any faster? I'll go find out."

She didn't get very far as Brittany tugged her back down into her seat.

"Santana," she said quietly. Santana took her hand and squeezed it tightly. Slowly, she relaxed into her seat, gradually finding comfort in Brittany's proximity until they both found some rest for the last few hours of the flight.

Outside the address Sugar had given them Santana stood near the main security door with a bag of groceries wrapped up in her arms.

"Why don't we just break in? We don't have time for this," Brittany stood nearby looking around impatiently with her arms crossed.

"We can't risk them going underground if the authorities get all over this."

Eventually an old lady exited the building and Santana cracked her a charming smile and a smooth, "Merci," before darting into the building, before the door shut and locked itself, like she was meant to be there.

"Fifth floor," said Santana, dumping the groceries against the wall of the lobby, but Brittany was already running up the first flight of stairs.  
At the apartment Brittany jiggled the door handle but the doors had been locked.

"We'll go in the window." Santana opened the window on the stairwell and climbed out onto the ledge.

Brittany rolled her eyes and reached inside her jacket pulling out a leather wallet containing a selection of lock picks. She stuck her tongue out in concentration and began picking the lock to the apartment.

Outside, Santana shuffled along the narrow ledge which ran around the walls containing the cold, hard courtyard five floors below. She was stretched out to her fullest height as she held onto another ledge above by her fingertips.

Brittany cursed as her pick snapped and the door remained locked. She slammed her palm against the wood panel in frustration.

With a great sigh of relief Santana elbowed a small glass pane into the living area and reached in to open the window. She scrambled in over the windowsill and staggered to her feet to face another intruder in the foyer.  
She lowered her combat ready hands and observed the now horizontal front door Brittany had kicked in. She was standing over Sugar's scattered luggage, strewn by the door. It hadn't even made it to Sugar's bedroom.

In grim silence they walked through the main living space which had been left a mess. A table was overturned and a vase smashed on the floor. On a side table Sugar's purse lay there untouched. No regular thieves would have left a purse, especially one filled with crisp new Euros. Santana looked out over the courtyard to the windows opposite.

"If this room was where the struggle began then Sugar must have been watching Kitty from one of the rooms on other side of the building."

Wordlessly both women made their way around the building to the bathroom opposite the front entrance, then, with dread, they checked the room next to it; the bedroom.

The room looked as though it had been ransacked. Even more so than the living room. Sugar had left a wake of destruction from her abduction.

Santana started up the recording of Sugar's phone call again and both parents listened to their daughter's frightened voice and followed her movements in time to the playback. Together they crawled under the bed putting themselves in her position, reliving her experience. Brittany reached over and took Santana's hand as Sugar cried down the phone, Santana's head jerked up and bumped against the underneath of the bed as Sugar screamed on the recorder as she was taken.

Determined they crawled out again and searched the room. A mirror on the wall had been smashed, shards were scattered on the floor and some remained in the frame hanging on the wall. Brittany examined the area of impact, her gloved finger coming away with a trace of blood and a couple of dark hairs.

"It might not be hers," Santana said quietly and unconvincingly.

"It had better not be," said Brittany as she bagged up the evidence.

Santana heard something crunch underfoot. She looked down to find the phone she had given to Sugar broken to pieces on the floor. Someone had stamped on it crushing the components and rendering the device useless. She searched through the pieces and took out the intact memory card.

At the nearest Paris metro station Brittany hovered over Santana's shoulder as she tapped away at one of the photo booths installed for tourists to print off their holiday snaps from their phone or camera's memory cards. Sugar's photos loaded on the screen and Santana scrolled through them. One of Sugar asleep on the plane, at the airport collecting her luggage, one of Kitty and Sugar together waiting in line at the taxi rank.

"Who took that photograph?" Brittany asked as she peered intently over Santana's shoulder. Santana zoomed in on a reflection on a perspex poster board near to the girls in the photo. Her fingers danced over the screen as she swiped the picture and zoomed in on the reflection. The close up image loaded and they both stared at the face of their first lead; Brody. Brittany reached over Santana who was glaring lasers at the face and pressed print.

"I'll take him," Brittany said, leaving no room for discussion. "You see if Will still works here." Brittany stared at the newly printed picture with fire in her eyes.

"We should stick together," Santana suggested. "You might be... uh... rusty."

Brittany raised an eyebrow. "We should split up because it will get us to Sugar faster and we don't have any time to waste."

"Britt," Santana said softly, knowing there was no arguing with her at the moment. "Be careful, okay?"

Brittany kissed her on the cheek and walked away towards the trains. Santana blinked, stunned, and reached up to touch her cheek as she watched her go.

At Charles de Gaulle airport a very bored looking Brody flipped through the pages of a well worn magazine as he waited for the travellers from the latest flight roll out of the baggage claim and into the free for all that was the arrivals lounge. Little did he know how much more exciting his day was soon to become.

He caught the eye of another man across the lounge who nodded his head towards a young girl with a backpack just off the flight from Stockholm. Within a few seconds he had dropped his magazine and was tailing her out the automatic doors heading for the taxi rank and being sure to get in line behind her.

"Hi," he smiled at the girl.

"Hi," she replied with a friendly nod.

"I'm Brody."

"I'm Harmony."

"On holidays?" He asked in his stupid cocky accent.

"Yes," she smiled happily.

"Me too!" He grinned and then took a well rehearsed moment to look around. "You know, the cabs here are so damned expensive. You want to share one?"

"Sure, why not?" Harmony shrugged.

"Great!" said Brody, happy this was so easy, and jumped to open the cab door for her.

"Excuse me," said Brittany, stepping in front of the lucky girl and grabbing Brody by his head then forcing him into the back seat by his skull.

"Hey!" the driver yelled in surprise at the struggle now taking place in the back of his car.

"Drive!" Brittany ordered him who then promptly hurried out of his seat and ran to find some security.

Brittany pinned Brody's arm around his throat and threatened to pop his shoulder with the pressure. "The American girls from yesterday," she began.

"I don't know! I don't know!" Brody wailed in pain.

Brittany punched him in the ribs and he yelped. "The next rib will drive into your lungs," she spat at him. "The two American girls from yesterday. Where are they?"

The door behind Brittany opened and the spotter from the lounge who had assisted Brody earlier pulled her out from the back-seat by her legs and dropped her to the concrete outside. He kicked her as she landed face first on the ground but she kicked up her long, strong legs and hit him in the groin. He doubled over in pain and then used his position to rugby tackle her up against the side of the vehicle. He reached back with a sneer to punch her but she quickly deflected his shot then jabbed him in the throat. While he was distracted with trying to breathe she smashed his face into the taxi's bodywork. He tumbled to the ground and stayed down.

A glance at the taxi showed Brody was gone but hadn't made it very far as she spotted him half running, half limping up the slip road to the ring-road surrounding the airport. Brittany slammed the open car doors shut and jumped into the driver's seat. She wheel spinned out of the parking bay, ramming into a luggage trolley and narrowly missing the taxi driver who had returned with two security guards.

The car jolted with the speed she used to turn up the ramp to chase down Brody who was running as fast as someone with broken ribs could. His breath was ragged as he made it to the top of the ramp, probably achieved with the motivation of pure fear. He turned and ran along the feeder road facing the oncoming traffic so Brittany couldn't follow him.

Brittany did not give a flying fuck about oncoming traffic. At the top of the ramp she did a handbrake turn and skidded into the column of cars all heading her way. The single lane of traffic screeched to a halt and cars began to pile up.

Having no other option Brittany abandoned the car in the middle of the carriageway and completely blocked the road. Brody turned and hissed with dismay as he saw the very angry and very determined woman running after him. He held his ribs as he stumbled along but Brittany was unrelenting and was quickly gaining on him. He leaned over the concrete wall of the flyover and saw a lorry parked underneath the bridge he was on. With Brittany almost upon him and no other way to escape her, he climbed up and over the chest high concrete wall and half jumped, half fell to land on top of the lorry below.

Brittany watched him as he clambered down the cab of the truck and staggered out onto the road, forgetting his highway cross code and keeping his eyes upon her as he backed away out in front of the truck. A sixteen tonne truck driving past the parked vehicle had no time to slam on the brakes. The horn blared and Brody turned to see a radiator grill a metre away from his face.

Brittany winced and turned away. Without looking back she retraced her steps back to the subway station and the train into the city, all the while hoping Santana had more luck. At least now they knew the gang were still operating in the area. She pulled out her phone and dialled Santana.

Santana sat outside a café with a cup of coffee and a broadsheet newspaper obscuring her face and indeed the top half of her body. Further down the road was a government building, the only clue as to its identity a CCTV camera overseeing the heavy doors. Shortly after five pm a curly haired man in a suit and tie and long overcoat exited the building and walked away down the road straight past Santana's café. Once he had passed, Santana folded her paper and, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, followed in the same direction as the man.  
Shortly after they reached a busy area of the city where shoppers, tourists and workers bustled around in the rush hour. The man didn't look around but stopped at a busy road crossing. Santana stepped up next to him and they both appeared to scan the traffic looking for an opportunity to cross.

"Just like the old days," said the man with a chuckle.

"Would you prefer it any other way?"

"Between you and me? No. But now that I sit behind a desk the world looks different."

"You mean it looks boring as hell."

"I mean, different. Okay, a little boring. But is being retired any more interesting?"

Santana looked around the intersection. "It was, at least until my daughter disappeared in Paris, yesterday." The man looked up, instantly more alert. "She and her friend were marked by a spotter at the airport. Albanians took her."

The man's demeanour turned stony faced. "How do you know this?"

"I'm retired, not dead," Santana scoffed.

"And I assume you don't want to go to the police."

"I was told I have 96 hours. That was 16 hours ago."

"Okay, first we should find the spotter."

"Already taken care of. And he's dead."

"You found him that way?" He turned to her angrily. Santana said nothing. "Santana, you cannot just run around tearing down Paris."

She turned to face him. "Will, I will tear down the Eiffel tower if I have to."

"Don't forget who you are talking to," he hissed at her.

They both faced each other at the side of the road all pretence at not knowing each other forgotten.

"I thought I was talking to a friend."

"You are," Will insisted. "But please remember, your friend has a desk now." Will reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a business card.

"W. Schuester, Deputy Director, Internal Security," Santana read aloud. "That's cute, Will. I guess that means you can wear all the sweater vests you want." Santana tucked the card away and carried on regardless. "The Albanians?"

"They showed up from the East six, seven years ago. Fifteen to twenty of them. Now, there are hundreds. We don't don't even know how many... and dangerous."

"So I heard. Where do I find them?"

"The best place to start is Porte de Cliche."

Santana walked off without so much as a thank you. She crossed the road, willing to waste no further time now she had her lead.

Will shouted after her, "Try not to make a mess." As he watched her disappear into the crowds he dialled a number in his phone.

Schuester residence

"I'm sorry, my darlings.. The big scary bears will have to stop scaring small children before bedtime for a moment because Papa has a phone call." Will looked up at his wife from his story telling seat on the end of his daughter's bed with a smile. "It's your assistant," she said with a smile offering him the phone.

"Ah thanks, Emma." He turned to his children, "I'll be right back," leaving them both with a kiss each. He took the phone from his wife and took it to the bathroom so he wouldn't be overheard.

"Oui? Finn?"

"She visited a car hire place and a temp agency."

"Was she alone?"

"Yeah, it's all quiet."

"Not for long. Don't let her fool you."

In the middle of Paris' red light district, Porte de Cliche, a well dressed young man with impeccable hair stood next to a signpost nervously clutching tight hold of his messenger bag and watching the business side of the street not far away. A car pulled up next to him and the window wound down.

"Kurt Hummel?"

"Yes?" the young man replied.

"I'm Ms. Motta. Get in," said Santana.

Kurt looked relieved as he recognised the name and got into the vehicle with only slight hesitancy. Once seated he opened his bag. "Here is my resume. The employment agency said we would be doing translation."

Santana watched the prostitutes over the road. Without looking she took the proffered resume.

"Yes. Albanian to English. You do speak Albanian?"

"Albanian, Croatian, Serbian. I ran an amateur dramatics society before the war began in Pristina. We could perform in four languages."

"What's your rate?" Santana asked, interrupting him before Kurt could tell her his life's story.

"My rate? Um usually twenty five Euros for the first 3 hours then it goes up to-"

He looked back as someone got into the car in the back seat.

"She's with me," Santana explained. "Well not 'with me' 'with me' but... you know what? Never mind, it's complicated... And none of your business."

"Hey," said Brittany.

"Hey," said Santana, glancing at her in the rear view mirror. "You okay?" Brittany nodded in the mirror. Santana looked away when their eyes met for too long. "This is Kurt."

"Hey Kurt," Brittany slapped him on the shoulder. "I like your hair. I've never seen hair that big before."

"Um, hello...?"

"Ms. Motta."

"Ms. Motta? But that's your name," he looked at Santana.

"Yeah, well. Long story. Okay," Santana interrupted. "Here's ten hours money. Wait here." She climbed out of the car.

"Ms Motta! I don't understand. What is the job exactly? Because I'm not into that sort of-"

"Right now the job is to wait here."

He watched as she walked over to the prostitutes.

"Hi," Santana grinned at the nearest woman.

"Yes, darlin', you looking for a date?"

"I love your dress," Santana reached out and ran a finger over the short dress exposed from under a small denim jacket. "Is that silk?"

"Hell, I don't know headses from tails," the woman giggled coquettishly. "Do you want to know prices?"

"Just the way it falls, it must be silk. How it compliments the natural curves of your body."

Brittany snorted at the look on the hooker's face. Kurt stared in bewilderment at the scene in front of him. "What is she doing? That woman's fashion sense is abominable."

"That woman has absolutely no game," he heard Brittany sigh from the back seat.

The woman's jokey façade faded. "The rate is forty Euros for standard."

"Standard? Could you be more specific? Because back home standard covers a range of possibilities." The woman looked unimpressed. Maybe she wasn't as dumb as she sounded. "Like kissing you know, closed lips, open lips."

"Listen if you're not buying, piss off," the woman shook her head as she began to walk away from the time waster.

"I didn't say I wasn't buying," Santana followed her further along the stretch of street. "I just want to get comfortable before I purchase."

The woman sauntered over to a kerb crawler and flashed a vivid smile and an eyeful of cleavage through the open window.

"It's like this new TV I bought," Santana followed her around as she tried to pick up another customer. "I must have read the manual from cover to cover so many times."

"I don't give a hoot, honey. You're going to get me in T-R-O-U-B-L-E," she spelt out the word for extra emphasis, "if you don't buy."

Santana perked up at the information. "Trouble, really?" She asked, eagerly. "With who?"

"Piss off."

"Okay, okay. Listen, I'm sorry. If I want a package deal do I get a discount?"

The woman sighed as another car drove away. "You've cost me two now."

Over the road a large brutish looking man got out of a shiny silver car with tinted windows and marched over to where Santana was perceivably harassing the woman.

"Oh boy," the woman muttered. "You'd better leave."

"I thought we were negotiating!"

The woman stepped back in apprehension as her pimp walked up to them. "Azimio, I swear its not my fault!" her voice shook.

The mountain of a man slapped her then towered over Santana menacingly. "Why are you bothering one of my girls?"

Kurt looked horrified. "Should we go help?" He squeaked to Brittany.

"Nah, she's doing great," Brittany reassured him.

"Hey, listen up, brother. This is none of your business," Santana answered back cockily as they circled each other.

"She is my business," said the man. "And if you're not spending money then you are costing me money."

"I was negotiating," Santana said with a laugh, trying to shrug it off.

"No negotiating. The price is the price and now you owe me for the two that got away."

Santana spluttered with indignation. "I don't owe you shit."

Azimio shoved her back following her stumbles until he had her pinned against the wall.

In the car Kurt and Brittany watched. Kurt with his mouth hanging open and Brittany watching calculatingly as she noticed Santana grab his jacket in the appearance of steadying herself and attach a bug to the underneath of his collar.

"What about now? Should we help her now?" Kurt asked.

Brittany patted him on the shoulder, "She's almost done. Don't worry your pretty little hair."

"Fifty Euros or I kick your ass."

"Sure, sure, okay," said Santana her voice a bit higher than normal. "Chill out, jeez." She pulled out a handful of notes and picked out a fifty. "Here's your fifty," Azimio snatched the rest of the cash.

"Hey!"

"And another fifty for being an asshole. Now get the hell out of here." He pulled her away from the wall and shoved her towards the road. "If I see you again I will kill you." Azimio stomped back to his car without looking back.

"Not if I kill you first," Santana muttered under her breath.

Santana returned to her rental car where Kurt stared at her, open mouthed, as she settled back into her seat.

"Ms. Motta. Look, I don't know what kind of job I'm supposed to do for you but-"

"You're to translate," said Santana pulling a two way radio from the glove compartment and switching it on.

"I see you still have no game," came a snicker from the back seat.

"I have a fuckton of game!" Santana insisted.

"Can't even pull a hooker."

"I wasn't supposed to!" Santana spluttered then huffed as she witnessed Brittany's smirk.

The radio picked up Azimio's voice, transmitting his words from the bug.

"Now, translate this."

The radio crackled and Azimio's voice came through speaking fast conversational Albanian. "Translate," Santana prompted.

Kurt listened closely. "They're talking about you."

"What about me?"

"They're not saying nice things."

"Be specific."

"They're saying, uh, if you'll pardon the expression, what an 'asshole' you are." Santana shrugged. "Look, if you can explain to me why we are doing this then maybe-"

"Just translate." Santana watched Azimio's car over the road.

"Kurt," Brittany says softly. "We need to know what they're saying. Please."

"One of them is saying the sausage gave him heartburn. The other one is suggesting something his grandmother used to give him. Do you really want to hear all this?" He asked, puzzled at the inane chatter they were so interested in.

"Every single word."

"Now they're talking about football. The game between Lazio and Marseilles."

Santana leaned back into her seat and closed her eyes as she listened carefully. Brittany reached over and rested her hand on Santana's shoulder. Santana reached up and squeezed her fingers. If something didn't turn up in the men's conversation, they would be in trouble.

Kurt noticed the tension.

"Perhaps if I knew the purpose?"

"You're better off not knowing," said Santana. "Is it still football?"

"No. One is on the phone. He has to do a job at the construction site. Something about fresh merchandise giving problems." Santana eyes snapped opened and she gripped Brittany's hand tighter. "Ms Motta, I don't understand any of this."

Over the road Azimio's car began to move.

"You're not supposed to," said Santana while leaning over and opening Kurt's door. "I asked for an Albanian to English dictionary. Did you bring one?"

Kurt fumbled in his bag and handed her the book.

"Thank you, Kurt," Brittany smiled at him. "We wont forget your help."

Santana drove off leaving Kurt staring after them completely befuddled. He didn't pay any attention to the unmarked car which then followed them out of the area.

At a huge construction site at least a hundred square acres in size heavy machinery, diggers, bulldozers and cranes worked under powerful spotlights lighting up the site. Workers in hard hats milled around finishing up for the evening.

At the workers compound and rest area Santana and Brittany sit in their car, parked up with the workmen's vehicles. They watched a group of men line up outside of a sizeable port-a-cabin. The kind of lightweight building available for the work crews to use for their breaks. They watched the first in the line hand the man on the door some cash and then receive a card in return. The man entered the building only for Azimio to exit shortly afterwards. He spoke to the doorman and took a large handful of cash from him then walked away.

"Do you think they let women in?" Santana pondered.

"Do you think I care?" Brittany answered grimly. She tucked her hair into a woollen beanie hat.

"What are you doing? You're not going in there!"

"Santana, if she's in there..."

"She wont be. 96 hours, remember? It's too early. You wait here. Just... do it, Britt. Wait here and back me up when shit goes down."

"You know you'll have to let me at them eventually," Brittany said, acquiescing to Santana's request.

"I will. Don't worry about that," Santana gave her a half hearted, lopsided grin.

"Don't kill anyone without me."

"I've been trying recently not to make promises I cant keep."

Santana joined the line, her jacket turned up and Brittany's beanie hat hiding her hair. Her disguise was in vain as the guy on the door didn't even glance at her as he took the money and handed over a piece of cardboard with a number on it.

Inside the cabin Santana paused to take in the dull blueish lighting and muted atmosphere. There was no talking only some coughs and quiet groans. The single room had been divided with curtains into cubicles with numbers pegged to the front of them.

Santana walked slowly down the aisle in between the opposing rows of curtains until she found the one with her number on. With her heart in her throat she slid open the curtain.  
Inside was a girl lying on a single bed, half dressed. Santana stared at her from the makeshift doorway. The young girl was pale and sweating and her dark eyes had the pupils dilated. As she raised her arm to beckon Santana, she noticed the needle puncture marks running up her bare arm.  
Grim faced Santana closed the curtain and silently looked in the next stall. Another girl was in there, naked but partially covered by a bed sheet, and again she had needle marks along her arm.  
She checked another. A man was dressing with his back to her. She checked the girl. Unknown.  
In the next cubicle a man sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. The girl he had paid for sat in front of him on his lap. Santana's eyes were immediately drawn to the leather jacket lying on the chair next to the bed. It was her own, the one that Sugar had 'borrowed' from her to take to Paris. The last time she had seen that jacket was on Sugar at the airport as she waved goodbye.

Santana looked back to the girl but her face was obscured by her long brown hair. With a snarl Santana grabbed the man by his ears and ripped him away from her. She threw him to the floor then grabbed him again and punched him in the face. The man slumped to the floor and stayed down.

The girl hadn't reacted at all during the one sided scuffle taking place right next to her. Santana tentatively reached out and gently brushed her hair to the side. To her pure relief it wasn't Sugar. The girl stared off into space as Santana pulled her shirt back up her arms and onto her shoulders covering her up. She grabbed Sugar's jacket from the chair and held it up to the girl's face making sure she could see it.

"Where did you get this jacket?" Santana asked in a low voice. "Where did you get it?"

In accented English the girl said, "I'm good."

"Who gave this to you? Who? Who gave this to you?" Santana insisted desperately.

"I'm good," the girl said again, dazed and swaying slightly.

The curtain door was thrown back and a man stared in at them, looked over at the unconscious client on the floor then lunged for Santana.

Santana knocked his arm to the side with her backhand and kneed him in the crotch, then kicked him to the floor for good measure. She grabbed a belt hanging over the chair and wrapped it around his neck and jerked it sharply, pulling it tight. The man panicked and began to elbow her frantically. She jumped backwards to avoid his sharp jabs without releasing her tight grip on the belt and they stumbled together down the centre of the makeshift corridor, the man grabbing at the curtains either side as they went until they hit the solid outer wall of the cabin.

Girls screamed and men ran around in various states of undress at the disturbance. The man elbowed Santana again, slamming her viciously back against the wall and as she flinched he tried to turn around within the noose at his neck. Santana threw him by swinging the belt and smashed his face into the wall. He fell to his knees and she kicked him in the chest then punched him until he fell to a broken heap on the floor.

Straight down the aisle another man ran at Santana with a knife but she kicked his armed hand away and then kicked him in the balls. She grabbed him by the neck and something crunched under her hands as she twisted his head and threw him aside. A third man appeared, "Hey!" he shouted and brandished a pistol. Santana instantly chopped his arm down so the barrel no longer pointed at her and the weapon clattered to the floor. She karate chopped him in the neck then kicked him in the groin and he collapsed to the ground.

Another man entered the building with a gun already drawn and fired blindly at one of the girls who was running screaming towards him as she tried to escape from the fighting.  
Using the distraction the girl provided Santana picked up the pistol at her feet and as the girl fell lifeless to the ground the gunman only had a second to look up to witness Santana shooting him twice in the heart.

In a nearby worker's mess cabin a small group of men had been calmly enjoying their break, among them Azimio, who gleefully counted his pile of cash only to be rudely interrupted by the sound of gunshots nearby.

Azimio looked out of the window to see men and a couple of girls fleeing the building opposite. He pulled out a pistol and barked orders at his men.

Santana wrapped her stolen jacket around the girl she had found in its possession and led her out of the back of the building, toward the car where Brittany was waiting with the engine running. She bundled the girl in the back of the car and buckled her in.

A bullet smashed the window over Santana's head and she ducked further behind the door, blindly firing back around the frame. She hit one of the four men firing at them in the chest and continued to shoot until one of them pulled out a semi automatic rifle. She dove into the back seat, climbing over the girl and Brittany wasted no time in pulling off.

Brittany's time spent waiting in the car had not been wasted and she sped across the yard making men scatter until she reached the stack of fuel drums used to run the generators running the spotlights and other machinery. She skilfully skidded the back of the car on the muddy ground and into the fuel drums toppling them across the open yard and spilling petrol all over the area. With another pre-planned manoeuvre she knocked over a burning drum the workers were using to keep warm through the cold evenings. As fire met petroleum the spilled drums combusted, blowing up with a roar and making Azimio and his men run for cover as the ignition erupted into a fire ball. Under shouted orders from Azimio the men ran for their parked 4x4's and give chase.

Santana peeped over the door frame through the broken glass from where she was shielding their comatose passenger to find them driving through the midst of the main construction area. Brittany manoeuvred around the busy heavy machines still working, swerving around a monster dumper truck. Behind them three pick up trucks gave chase.

The ground was uneven, wet and muddy and the hire car did not like it. It responded poorly to the rough conditions compared to the pick ups. A shot rang out from behind them and Brittany fought to keep control of the vehicle around the rough track.

One of the pick ups pulled up alongside them and overtook Brittany as she drove up a makeshift dozer track up the side of a huge gravel mound. At the top the pick-up pulled a handbrake turn skidding on the gravel to get a straight head on shot at Brittany. The driver stuck his arm out of the window and pointed his pistol at her hesitating as he realised she was accelerating. She ploughed straight into the side of his truck flipping it over and the pick up rolled over and over down the back of the bank of gravel. Her momentum was too much and Brittany had no choice but to follow the truck over the edge.

The hire car hit the ridge head on so Brittany had a better chance at keeping control of her vehicle. The car slid down the bank, wheels sinking into the stones. At the bottom of the slope Brittany span the steering wheel to avoid the wrecked overturned pick up and sped off on solid ground.

She took a second to look into the back seat at Santana who was staring back at her with a pained look on her face as she held the girl steadily to prevent her from being flung around in her seat.

"Don't you say a word about my driving," Brittany winked at her, then her eyes widened as she saw two more pick up trucks hit the flat ground behind them having followed her down the hill. Brittany grasped the steering wheel tightly and let out a controlled breath.

"Here we go again. Hold tight, ladies."

Brittany put her foot down and sped further through the site but the rental was no match for the power of the their pursuers' 4x4's over the rough ground and they soon caught up. One of the cars pulled up alongside and fired at her. The shot whistled past Brittany's head through her window and out the far side.

"You fucking-"

Brittany could hear Santana spluttering expletives behind her. With a grimace she turned the steering wheel sharply and confidently rammed the truck next to her so the driver didn't have a chance to shoot again. She pulled back then drove into him again pushing his truck further off the track and then hit him the hardest time yet forcing his two left side wheels to ride up the side of another gravel bank with two wheels on the ground and two on the slope. The driver sneered at her for a split second until his truck hit a signpost flipping his vehicle 180 degree, toppling it over and skidding around on its roof.

Azimio swerved around the upturned truck and drove on, he was the only remaining driver in the third 4x4.

Brittany looked around for the last pick up but couldn't see him anywhere in her rear view. As she reached the end of the second gravel mound to find Azimio bearing down at her from the track running around the other side of the gravel. Brittany accelerated and the car bounced onto a rougher, muddier area of the construction site. Santana groaned in the back seat as her back was jarred relentlessly. The wheels groaned just as much as Santana under the bumps and potholes they were forced through.

Azimio pulled alongside the car and fired at them his shots wildly off because of the terrain. Santana held the girl beneath her shielding her body with her own and wildly pointed her gun out of the window firing at Azimio. Brittany slammed on the brakes and the car skidded 180 degrees, around the side of a giant rock crushing machine of some kind, then she accelerated again. Azimio cursed and changed direction hurriedly falling behind the car again. Brittany aimed for a particularly muddy puddle and the mud splattered out from their wheels spraying mud all over Azimio's windscreen. He fumbled for the wipers and while temporarily blinded he leaned out of his window only to drive head on into the raised bucket of a parked up digger. The teeth of the bucket ran straight through his wind-shield and the pick-up truck's chase finally ended embedded on a twenty tonne immoveable object.

The rental car trundled on to the checkpost at the entrance to the site. Brittany blasted the horn causing the security guards to scatter as she smashed through the barrier and skidded onto the main road.

"I don't think the hire company are going to let us hire anything from them ever again," Santana said from the back where she peered around looking out for any remaining threat.

An unmarked car followed them through the streets back to the heart of the city. In the car the driver was mid conversation on speaker phone.

"I told you she wouldn't stay quiet for long." Will's voice came through on speaker phone.

"What do we do now?" Finn asked.

"Now, she's in action my guess is she will lose you," Will said crossly and then hung up abruptly. Finn checked the junction and indicated to follow them.

Brittany watched the car following them with interest. Santana noticed her peering into the mirror from the back of the car. "What is it?"

"We're being followed by a complete moron."

The traffic light ahead of them began to turn red so naturally Brittany stepped on the gas and high tailed it around the car in front before running the light. She did a U turn in the intersection and turned back on herself to return down the same stretch of road giving Finn the one fingered salute as he stared gormlessly at her while blocked in by traffic.

"Dammit," he slapped his steering wheel and sulked until the light turned green. As he drove off his face scrunched in confusion. "Wait a minute. Who was that?"

Santana popped the lock of an old VW Golf in a quiet side street and opened the door while Brittany carried the unconscious girl over from their battered rental. While Brittany gently settled the girl into the back of the car Santana pulled the bundle of wires from the steering column. "Uh, San-"

"I'm driving, Britt," Santana said immediately. "I appreciate that we are alive right now, thank you and all that, but seriously, my spine is in my skull right now."

The engine spluttered to life and she shut the driver's door hurriedly as though Brittany could pull her out of the seat at any moment. Brittany rolled her eyes and looked at her silent companion next to her but received no reaction. She took hold of the girl's hand and squeezed it as Santana drove them away.

Santana rapped her knuckles on the front desk of a small, worn hotel she had driven them to. A man sat behind the counter, his feet resting up on the desk and his dreadlocks hung over the back of his chair. He jolted awake at the sound of company, his feet hit the floor and his eyes widened as he recognised his customer.

"Santana! How are you?" he asked with a genuine smile. Santana reached out her hand with a smile and they shook.

"Hello, Joe. How's the wife?"

"Ahh, still in charge," Joe grinned. "Been a long time since I've seen you."

"Way too long," Santana agreed.

"The usual accommodation?"

"Plus two this time."

Joe turned and reached for a key, handing it to Santana. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Joe."

He nodded at her and let her get on with business.

Once they were safely up in the room Brittany gently lay the girl on the bed while Santana set up an IV drip. The girl was pale and sweating profusely, and was still unaware of what was happening around her as Santana and Brittany took care of her.

Santana bent a wire coat hanger into a loop and hung it from a wall mounted lamp to hold the IV bag up. Brittany watched wide eyed from the end of the bed as Santana inserted the IV into the girl's arm taking her time while she struggled to find a vein.

Brittany picked up the leather jacket Santana had found at the construction site and dusted it off. The jacket didn't stop moving in her trembling hands and tears gathered in her eyes. Wordlessly, Santana led her over to the couch and they curled up together, Sugar's leather jacket covering their legs.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Warnings for this chapter and the whole fic. Please be aware this is not my usual comedy fic. PM me if you want to know more before reading.

Thanks to Lulu for helping, always :)

Part 3

No sooner had Santana closed her eyes then her phone rang. Brittany leaned heavily into her side as fumbled for the device and held it up to her ear.

"We need to talk," came Will's voice.

"I'm listening."

It was early morning in the lush green park which ran along the bank of the tranquil river Seine. Aside from keen morning joggers a rather sleep deprived and grumpy looking Will Schuester sat on a park bench. His eyes darted around the area searching for someone.

"Can't you come and meet me?" He grumbled into his phone. "I cant see you. Where are you?" he asked, looking around.

"I can see and hear you just fine," Santana spoke into the two way radio in her hand as she watched Will pacing, his irritation obvious, from a rooftop a pertinent enough distance away. "You can tell them to stop jogging now."

Will huffed and signalled the small group of joggers who had run past him three times in the past ten minutes to stop. They halted immediately, one keeling over and gasping for breath looking alarmingly red in the face.

Will tried not to look suspicious as a man spoke through the earpiece in his ear.

'Okay, we've got the signal.'

Across the river from the park a van sat parked up at the side of the road with antennae and a small satellite dish on the roof.

'Localising. Cross checking transmitters.'

Inside the van a couple of technicians sat hunched over a monitor displaying a map of central Paris. The map zoomed in as they narrowed in on the transmission being received through Schuester's handset.

'One square kilometre. Keep her talking.'

"You didn't really think I was going to come down there, did you?" Santana chuckled.

Brittany took the binoculars from Santana and pinpointed Will's scowling face.

"I never liked him," she sniffed. "Never trust a man with curly hair."

A warm smile had crept onto Santana's face as she watched Brittany adjust the zoom and scan the park. It felt good to be out in the field with her partner again, even if that was because Brittany hadn't wanted to stay alone with the rescued girl where her thoughts could run to darker things, and nothing to do with being near Santana. Obviously, because that could never happen.  
Santana could understand that. Keep busy. Don't take time to think about it. She should know, after all, that was how she had spent the past nine years of her life.

"He looks pissed," Brittany reported. "Or constipated. I cant tell. You should ask him which it is," she turned to glance at Santana who was trying not to laugh.

"I didn't think you would make such a mess," said Will, interrupting them.

"I didn't have time to worry about neatness," Santana snorted with contempt.

In the streets nearby police cars closed in on the riverside area with their lights flashing.

"I know," said Will. "You have 70 hours."

"I have 56 now," Santana snapped at him.

'Got her,'the surveillance man said through Will's earpiece.

"No," said Will with a sigh. "Now you have none. My chief wanted to arrest you. I convinced him to send you home."

He reached inside his coat and pulled out an envelope with Air France logo on the front, holding it up in the air so wherever Santana was she could see.

"Leaves today at two. Courtesy of the French government for past services rendered."

"Give me the radio," Brittany angrily tried to snatch it out of Santana's grasp.

Down below police cars pulled up to a building the surveillance team had located. Officers from four cars jumped out and ran into the building.

"And what about my daughter?" Santana growled, her voice cold.

"I told you!" Will's voice got higher pitched the more frustrated he got. "I work behind a desk now. I take my orders from someone who sits behind a bigger desk."

Santana clenched her jaw. Brittany stood in front of her able to hear the conversation clearly over the speaker. They looked at each other from three feet away as Will raised his voice in anger.

"Come on, Santana! Seven dead bodies, three in hospital, a building destroyed. Total chaos at the airport." Brittany gave a one shouldered shrug at that. "Figgins wanted your ass in chains! It's the best I could do. I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Will. Not this time."

"You cant beat the state, Santana. You know that."

"I'm not trying to beat the state, you know that. I'm trying to save my daughter. And it was a trailer, not a building."

Santana and Brittany watched as police officers swarmed the rooftop of a building a couple of blocks away from them. The police searched the roof until one of them found a cell phone propped up on a chimney pot and positioned next to a two way radio which had been relaying the signal to Santana.

Will spoke into his wire. "Have you located her?"

'Negative.'

He hung up his cut off connection and looked around the surrounding area fruitlessly hoping for a glimpse of his prey.

Santana and Brittany walked out onto the street from the building they had been using and dropped the two way radio into a bin. They calmly walked to the nearby subway entrance and disappeared off the streets.

Back in the hotel room Santana flicked through the English-Albanian dictionary Kurt had given her, jotting down a few words. She took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes then glanced at Brittany who had been staring impassively out of the window for the past hour.

"Britt-Britt?"

Brittany closed her eyes at the loving name and let out the breath she had been holding in. "You once said I could talk to you about anything," Santana said. Brittany opened her eyes and confirmed Santana's words by inclining her head. "It's just that you're doing that stone cold scary thing."

"I want my baby back."

"I know. So do I. But I want my Britt back as well."

Brittany immediately softened under Santana's concerned gaze.

The girl on the bed coughed and diverted their attention. Brittany rushed to her side and stopped the girl before she could remove her IV drip out of confusion.

"No, no, leave it. Shhh, it's all right," she said soothingly. "It's fluids and medication to counteract the drugs."

Santana stood behind Brittany looking worriedly at the disorientated girl. The girl mumbled to herself then eyed her new captors warily.

"It's alright. It's okay, you're safe here," Brittany reassured her.

Santana held up her leather jacket so the girl could see it for the second time. "Where did you get this? Where did you get this jacket?" she insisted. Without waiting for a reply she held up the photo of Sugar they had printed out. "Did you get it from her?" she asked, pointing to Sugar in the picture. "Was it from this girl?"

The girl's demeanour turned from scared to sad. She whimpered. "I didn't steal it. I was cold, she gave it to me."

"Where? Where did she give it to you?"

The girl looked at them both watching her so hopeful and earnest. "At the house," she said.

"What house?" Brittany frowned.

"The house with the red door." The girl looked down to where Brittany was gently holding her hand. "He said there was a party," she said, quietly.

"And the girl who gave you this jacket, was she in the house?"

Tears filled the girl's eyes and she began to cry. "She was nice."

"I know," said Santana, with a shaky voice. She rested her hand on Brittany's back, needing something tactile to hold on to, a connection of shared relief now that they had a solid lead. "She's our daughter."

The girl began to cry and Brittany leaned over and hugged her.

"We need to find this house," Santana continued to push for answers. "Do you know where it is?"

The girl thought carefully for a moment, calming under the safety of Brittany's arms. "Paradise. The street was Paradise."

"Thank you," Santana looked visibly relieved. "What's your name?"

"Susanne."

"Thank you, Susanne. You stay here until you feel better. The man downstairs at the front desk, his name is Joe. He's a good man and will help you. He can help contact your family, friends, whoever you want. You're safe now. Stay here and rest."

"I hope you find her," Susanne sniffled.

"We will," Brittany promised, letting Susanne go.

"Here," said Santana. "Keep the jacket."

On Rue de Paradise two women with faces which could have been carved out of stone and no one would have been able to tell the difference, stood before a red front door.

"Britt," Santana cleared her throat. "When this is over, we need to talk."

"Yeah," Brittany agreed easily. "We do."

"You know how in the past I may have said something along the lines of 'don't go too crazy in there'?"

Brittany looked over at her, eyebrow raised in question. Without a further word Santana walked forward and pushed at the red door. It opened inwards without resistance. The ghost of a smirk crossed Brittany's face as she followed inside.

Inside, a short passageway led into a courtyard where two men sat at a rickety old table playing dominoes. One weasely looking man with a moustache jumped up to confront them as soon as they sighted the uninvited guests.

"Good morning," Santana said smoothly, walking confidently up to them.

"Can I help you?" asked the man in a thick Albanian accent.

"We're here to see your boss."

"No boss."

Santana pulled out Will's business card and handed it over to the uncooperative man who reached out with a tattooed hand to take it.

"We are doing nothing wrong here," he said after noting the insignia on the top of the card.

Santana held up her phone and waved it in his face.

"Listen up, minion one. I press one button and thirty agents will be here before you have time to scratch your worthless balls. Now, stop jerking around before I close you down for wasting my time."

"Wait here," the man said and begrudgingly trudged up a set of stairs while the remaining man at the table eyed Brittany. Santana glared at him but kept her cool and waited without violent interlude for the sentry to return.

"Your weapon?" He asked upon returning.

"You're holding it."

He reluctantly accepted their word and indicated for them to follow him up the stairs.

Brittany observed everything she could as they were silently and swiftly led to a rooftop and across to another building. She knew Santana would be doing the same and both strained for a sign of any women in the building. Inside the next door two men were in a room off to the left playing cards at a table.

They crossed a stairwell and Brittany looked back to glimpse one man going up the stairs and another one down to the level below. That brought the count to six men so far.

Finally they came to a kitchen with another four men sitting around the table in the centre of the room strewn with dirty dishes. Their guide threw the business card onto the table so all the men could see it.

Two trained killers against at least ten men. Five each. The odds weren't even fair, Brittany sighed. This would be a pushover.

"Black, one sugar," Brittany said, flashing a sunny grin to the Weasel as he walked over to the coffee pot. He looked uncertain for a moment but pulled out an extra cup.

Santana noted the identifying tattoos all the men wore on their hands. Moon and stars. All the men were young in their late twenties/thirties and all looked strong and powerful.

"What is it that you want?" One of the seated men asked them as Santana did nothing to hide her gratuitous look around the kitchen.

"We're here to negotiate the rates," said Santana.

One man with a jagged scar down the right side of his face got up and walked away from the table to the door they had just come through, effectively trapping them in the room.

"We already negotiate the rates with Mr Tanaka. Why are there two of you?"

"Mr Tanaka has moved to another division," Santana explained patiently. "And my partner here is retraining. We're here for the renegotiation."

The Weasel handed Brittany her coffee and she plonked herself down at the table in the vacated seat helping herself to a couple of sugar cubes and stirring them into her drink. The men all watched in various degrees of puzzlement at her casual nature. To the uninitiated she seemed unaware she was sitting in a nest of dangerous vipers.

Santana noticed the Weasel making eye contact with one of the men and considering he might be their leader she began her investigation.

"Allow me to explain ourselves," said Santana with a friendly smile as she noted one of the men hadn't removed his hand from under the table, and considered him probably armed.

"Nice coffee," said Brittany.

"We have you under satellite surveillance 24 hours a day," Santana began as she slowly walked around the table.

Scarface looked out of the window up at the sky as though expecting to see a spy satellite hovering overhead. Santana was going to bet he wasn't the leader of the pack either with that level of intelligence.

"We hear everything that you say and we know everything that you do."

Brittany peered closely at each man in turn sitting around the table much to their further distraction and unease.

"Do you have any idea what it costs just to change the angle of the lens on a satellite orbiting 200 miles above the earth? And those costs, gentlemen, if I can call you that, have gone up. Our costs go up, your costs go up."

One of the men glared unashamed daggers at Santana's words. Another possible contender for leader.

"It's perfectly logical," Santana smirked at him. "By the way, which one of you is Hunter?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked the Weasel, immediately defensive.

Santana gave him a dirty look."Because, dumbass, I was told that Hunter from Tropoja was in charge."

"We are all Hunter," one of the men said with a grin.

"And we are all from Tropoja," said Scarface.

Santana laughed, much to their surprise. Brittany caught Santana's eye and smiled. Only two men at the table hadn't said anything yet. Chances were one of them was Hunter.

"If that's the game you want to play, boys. The price just went up ten percent."

The Weasel flashed a worried look at the man with the concealed weapon.

"If you are trying to extort us because we are immigrants," the Weasel began to bluster," we know the law!"

Santana stared at him in disgust. "Listen up you weasely sack of-"

Brittany caught everyone's attention again as she clinked her coffee cup as she pushed it away from her and it hit the sugar bowl. Santana took a moment and regained her temper.

"I am extorting you because you are breaking the law. Now which charge would you like to be arrested for?" She looked around at the men as though expecting an answer. When Scarface opened his mouth to speak she held up a hand to silence him. "That was a hypothetical question, genius. Will it be drugs? Kidnapping? Prostitution? Take your pick." She shook her head resignedly. "You come into this country, take advantage of the system and think because we are tolerant we are weak and helpless." She paced around the room, her faked agitation palpable. "Your arrogance offends me, and for that, the rate just went up another ten percent."

The armed man at the table next to Brittany looked extra highly pissed at this news.

"Now," Santana snapped at them. "Do you want to get down to business or I can keep going all night."

Santana could swear she heard Brittany mutter, "That's what she said."

"How much?" asked the grumpy looking man.

"Twenty percent and you have my word it wont go up for a year."

Grumpy said something to the Weasel in Albanian and he sulkily pulled a tin off a shelf on the far wall and set it on the table in front of him. As Grumpy counted out a pile of cash from the tin Brittany stirred her coffee and scrunched up her nose at the taste.

"How do you say 'sugar' in your language?" she asked one of the quieter men at the table.

"Sheqer," he replied.

"Sheqer," she repeated.

Grumpy handed Santana the wad of cash and she fanned herself with it. "You've made a very good investment, gentlemen. See you in a month."

Brittany got up from the table as Santana tucked the cash into the inside of her jacket. As she pulled her hand back she held a piece of notepaper.

"Oh," said Santana as though she'd just remembered something else. "A friend gave this to me," she said. "It's Albanian. You mind translating it for me?" She handed it to the one remaining man who they had yet to hear speak. He took the paper and laughed as he showed it to his friends. Santana cocked her head to the side her eyes burning into his skull. He turned and handed the paper back.

"It says – good luck."

Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck.

The temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero. His voice matched the voice of Hunter on Santana's audio recording.

Santana stared death at him, the sweat on her face from the stress of playing her role had turned cold. Brittany gripped the edge of the table staring hard at the sugar bowl.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Santana's voice was low and dangerous. Everyone in the room became alert and Hunter looked at her with a puzzled frown.

"We spoke on the phone two days ago." The men exchanged wary glances while Hunter looked wary. "I told you I would find you."

She could see the recognition dawn in his eyes and as he tried to extract his concealed gun she grabbed the back of his neck and smashed his face down into the tabletop, crushing his nose in and knocking him unconscious. She looked over her shoulder and intercepted a lunging Scarface by aiming a roundhouse kick at him. He flew backwards into the door-frame an awful cracking noise could be heard as his skull connected with the door frame.

As soon as Santana went for Scarface, Brittany lifted her side of the table and flipped it over sending it and its contents flying at the remaining two men about to leave their seats. They fell to the floor in their haste to escape while the Weasel ran to get a weapon from the shelves.

Brittany grabbed the nearest man as he scrambled up off the floor plucking the combat knife from his hand and stabbed him in the chest. The other man scrambled up from the floor and went for her with a gun in his hand. She gripped his arm and swiftly stepped behind him, slashing his throat then lifting his arm gripping the gun to fire at the Weasel who was pulling a gun on Santana.

"What? That's not fair," Santana gasped. "I only got two."

"Got to be quicker than that, babe," Brittany said with a smirk. "Five left. Get behind the door." The sound of heavy footsteps pounded through the building as the remaining men closed in on the sounds of chaos. Still holding the dead man held to her chest Brittany fell to the floor holding his arm pointing towards the door. She lay still as the two men who had been playing card in the first room they'd passed earlier ran down the hallway towards her directly in her line of sight. They paused for a moment in the doorway to survey the massacre of six apparently dead bodies strewn all over the kitchen in different stages of death until Brittany shot them from the ground where she was cunningly disguised as a dead body.

Santana stepped out from her hiding spot behind the door and shot a third man who was following shortly behind the first two while Brittany disentangled herself from the corpse on the sticky linoleum. She recognised him as the leery man who had been playing dominoes in the courtyard out the front. Asshole.

In perfect tandem Santana stepped out into the hall with Brittany at her elbow covering both sides of the hall as one unit. They silently moved to the stairwell then Santana shoved Brittany into a vacant room just off the stairs and ducked in after her. Footsteps thundered up the stairs to their level and a man ran down the hall they had just vacated heading for the kitchen. Santana took aim and shot him in the back. Another man ran down the stairs from the level above them and Brittany leaned over Santana and shot him in his left knee. He tumbled screaming down the stairs until Brittany finished him off with one more shot.

"That's ten," she whispered closely into Santana's ear, her breath sending a shiver down Santana's neck.

Cautiously they stepped out into the hall only for Santana to step back, pushing Brittany with her body into cover as the door to the rooftop opened. An unfit bald man barrelled puffing into the building. He raised his gun in vain as Santana shot him twice in the chest.

Silence reigned in the building but both women kept their weapons drawn as they climbed over the bodies in the stairwell and made their way upstairs.

They stopped outside the first room on the top floor. Santana put her back to the wall and covered the still hallway with her pistol even though the house was now silent and death reigned on the floor below them.

Brittany could feel the tension radiating off Santana in waves as she reached for the door handle. She gripped it tightly and paused to ready herself, finding some relief in Santana's presence. They exchanged a long silent look both realising the fact that something truly devastating might be beyond the door. Finally, with grim determination, Brittany turned the handle and pushed open the door.

Blessed relief and then a pang of guilt washed over them as they found that the girl in the bedroom wasn't Sugar.

Santana moved closer to check on her. The young girl couldn't have been much older than Sugar. Her hair was dull and greasy indicating she'd been captive awhile, her eyes were wide and glassy. She had been handcuffed to the bed frame by her wrists and puncture marks dotted her exposed arms.

"She's dead," Santana mumbled.

Brittany tugged her backwards out of the room and they shut the door behind them, leaning against the wall, catching breath and calming nerves.

With a sudden burst of furious energy Santana ripped open the next bedroom door. Another girl lay there, her eyes closed and also tied to the bed. Not Sugar. Her chest rose slowly. Still alive.

Brittany ran to the next room. Not Sugar.

The next room, a girl with long brown hair was turned away from them on the bed. Brittany stepped quietly up to her but she knew even before she brushed the girl's hair out of her face. Not Sugar.

Santana tore open the next door. A couple of steps behind her Brittany's heart almost stopped as she registered the look of horror on Santana's face. She pushed her aside and entered the room. Her throat choked up and she spluttered a strangled, "No!", upon finding her daughter's best friend, Kitty, handcuffed to the bed. The teenager's eyes were open but glazed over and beginning to turn a milky colour. Her restrained arm was dotted with needle pricks and a syringe lay on the floor next to the bed. Vomit coated her chin. Brittany checked her for a pulse then, without saying anything aloud, reached up and closed Kitty's eyes. As she brought her hand away she caressed the girl's cheek.

At the sound of a strangled sob she was up and over to the door where Santana was struggling to breathe with shock. Brittany took her in her arms and held her close as she shook. Under her arms Santana was rigid with tension, every muscle strained to the maximum. Her hands gripped onto Brittany like claws of iron.

"I know," Brittany whispered in a hushed voice.

"Britt," Santana choked out through a clenched jaw.

"I know..." She held her until Santana got on top of her breathing again and she felt some of the tension ebb away.

In a cosy windowless room, where the bare walls trickled damp from the ceiling, a lonely dull lightbulb did its best to light up the gloomy space. In the centre of the room sat Hunter from Tropoja, with his hands tightly bound behind his back and his legs handcuffed to legs of a chair.

"Wake up!" Santana slapped him hard across the face. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

He regained consciousness in this uncomfortable position, his eyes fluttered open and the pain of his smashed in nose he'd received from head butting the kitchen table made him groan.

"I need you to be focussed."

His eyes focused on Santana standing in front of him rubbing two metal rods together. She held one out in each hand then lifted them up to shoulder height and stabbed them down as hard as she could straight into Hunter's thighs. Leaving him to scream in agony awhile she walked over to her partner at the doorway and tugged Brittany out of the room.

"Britt, go and check on the girls, see if they're okay. I'll take care of this."

"Santana, I've done this before. Don't forget who I am."

"You got out a long time ago, for the better. I don't want you to do this. Britt, please," she pleaded. "Not this time. Those girls need-"

Brittany slammed her back against the wall with fire in her eyes. "That bastard took my daughter," she spat in outrage. "Do not-"

"You got out," Santana said desperately. "You don't have to do this. You shouldn't have to do this ever again. You were smart enough to get out."

"We do this together. We got in together, I wanted us to get out together. Now, we do this together." She let go of Santana's collar and stomped back into the room. Santana slid down the wall a few inches, winced, and then followed.

"Are you focussed yet?" Santana shouted in Hunter's face.

Hunter strained against the pain but his ties held him tight. He watched wide eyed as Santana hooked up a crocodile clip to each rod embedded in his legs. His eyes followed the wires on the end of the clips which ran along the floor and over to the light switch panel at the door. Brittany leaned up to the wall next to it.

Santana caught his attention by shoving the photo of Sugar and Kitty at the airport in his face. "Where is this girl?" She said clearly, pointing to Sugar.

Hunter's face twitched with pain as he breathed heavily while looking at the photo. HE stared at Santana and then spat in her face.

Brittany glowered at him.

Santana almost reverently tucked the photo safely away and then pulled out a handkerchief that had seen better days and wiped her face. Once she had finished she balled up the cloth and in a flash was stuffing it into Hunter's mouth. He struggled helplessly, gagging and grunting while Santana turned to Brittany and nodded. She took a large step back as Brittany reached up to the light switch and flicked it on.

The light bulb dimmed and brightened, flickering as the power it now had to share coursed through Hunter's body. Every muscle in his body was rigid as electricity flowed through him. Brittany and Santana watched coldly until his eyes began to roll and then flipped the switch off before he could lose consciousness.

"You know," Santana said as she rolled her shirt sleeves up to her elbows. "We used to outsource this kind of thing, but what we found was the countries we outsourced this to had unreliable power grids."

Hunter hissed in pain. His bleary eyes moved warily from Brittany by the switch to Santana who was pacing in front of him.

"Sometimes you'd turn on a switch and the power wouldn't come on for hours. Tempers got short, patience ran thin, and then people would resort to pulling fingernails, acid drops on bare skin, you get the drift. The whole exercise would become really messy and kinda unnecessarily gross. But here, Hunter from Tropoja, you'll be happy to hear that the power is stable. Here, there's a nice even flow. Here, you can flip a switch and the power stays on all day." She stopped pacing in front of him and smiled. "Good old Paris."

She pulled the cloth from his mouth. "Where is she?"

Hunter gasped for breath then eyed Santana up and down with a defiant sneer. He spat in her face again.

Santana didn't blink, she just remained standing in front of him staring him dead in the eye. Hunter began to hyperventilate as she stuffed the cloth back in his mouth. As soon as she let go, and stepped back again, Brittany flipped the switch once more.

Santana wiped her face with a sniff and then walked over and leaned against the wall mirroring Brittany's stance. In front of them Hunter shook uncontrollably in his chair.

"You come here often?" Brittany asked.

"I was thinking... You and Sugar should come over for dinner sometimes. Like a weekly thing."

"Yeah, I like the sound of that," said Brittany. "We'll see."

Hunter was now tilted so far back in the chair that his feet were no longer on the ground. Brittany casually turned the power off with a flick of her finger.

"Now I don't have any more time to waste, Hunter from Tropoja."

Hunter was sobbing as well as one could with a mouth stuffed full of handkerchief. Sweat and tears streamed down his body and his veins and sinew stood out on his neck.

"Give me what I want or I'll introduce you to some authentic Lima Heights hospitality where the lights stay on until they cut off the power for not paying the electricity bill."

She pulled the cloth from his mouth again. Hunter gasped for air and squeaked as he tried to breathe.

"Where is my daughter?"

He coughed out the words. "We don't keep virgins, we sell them." His voice was hoarse. "Lots of money."

"You sold my daughter?" Santana said in disbelief. She didn't think she could experience any more disgust with these people but here they were doing it again. "You sold her?" He nodded tears scattering onto the floor. "To whom?"

"I don't know," he rasped.

Santana immediately grabbed his face and stuffed the cloth back in. He gagged and mumbled until she took it out again.

"What?"

"Saint-James," he said, slumping in the seat.

"Saint-James? Is that a person, a place?"

"Person," Hunter gasped. "Jesse Saint-James." He breathed out, exhausted. Santana glanced over at Brittany.

"Where can I find him?" she asked.

"I don't know," Hunter sobbed. "I don't know, I don't know." He kept shrieking the words as Santana walked over to Brittany. He called after her desperately as she reached the light switch. "Please, not that! Please! I swear, I don't know."

"I believe you," Santana said quietly as she put her jacket back on. "But you upset my wife." With that, Santana walked out of the room leaving him alone with Brittany.

Hunter gulped and watched Brittany through tear filled eyes. She gazed back unblinking and betrayed no emotion. He breathed out a huge sigh of relief when she pushed herself away from her leaning post on the door-frame and turned to follow Santana.

As she exited the room, Brittany reached up and flicked the light switch on then walked off down the hall.

The lights throughout the building flickered as Hunter convulsed alone in the room. The electricity crackled and sizzled through him until his screams ran out and a couple days later the power was eventually shut off.

Will entered his apartment with a bundle of groceries under his arm still dressed in his work suit and tie.

"I'm home," he called into the apartment as he hung up his coat.

"Papa! Papa!" His children came running to greet him and he gathered them both up in a big hug.

"Hello, my darlings," he kissed them both in greeting and smiled happily as they led him into the dining room where his wife was laying out the table for their evening meal.

"That smells delicious," he said as he caught the scent as he entered the room.

"Look who dropped bye," Emma greeted him happily with a kiss.

Will turned the corner curiously. How he managed to keep a straight face he would never know but he managed to smile and sound sincere as he greeted their guest with a kiss on the cheek.

"Santana, what a pleasant surprise."

He couldn't however hide his surprise at seeing Santana's companion.

"Brittany?" Brittany smiled but her eyes remained cold as Will leaned over to kiss her too.

"Will," said Brittany in greeting.

"I didn't know you were back," he said worriedly as his smile faltered. Uh, I mean, back in town."

"Oh well, you know how it is," she shrugged. "When Santana told me she was coming to Paris I simply couldn't resist tagging along."

"The children waited up for you," Emma informed Will. "If you tuck them in maybe we can eat before the food gets cold. Santana, would you do the honours?" Emma asked, handing her a bottle of wine.

"I'll just be a minute," said Will as he herded his children to bed. He hurriedly tucked them in and kissed them goodnight making sure to shut the door completely behind him. He hurried to the bathroom and reached in the space under the sink and pulled out a gun. He tucked it in the back of his belt under his jacket and made his way back to the dining room where Santana and Brittany were now seated at the dining table which Emma had set for four.

"I was just saying how nice it's been since you left the old job for the new one," Emma caught him up on the conversation. "Home every night for dinner, get to see the kids more."

Will sat down in his place and occupied himself for a moment by rearranging his cutlery,

"Yeah," said Santana. "Must be nice coming home every night and seeing your kids..." Will paled. "Knowing they're safe."

"The Pierce's have been thinking about relocating," said Emma as she served out plates.

"Oh really?" asked Will.

"They've been visiting houses."

"Wine, Brittany?" Emma offered.

"Yes, please," said Brittany, her lip quivered at the sight of Will's hands shaking as he took the bottle to pour the drinks.

"Find anything interesting?" Will asked as he tried not to spill the rich red on the spotless white tablecloth.

"As a matter of fact we did," said Santana. "Over on the tenth arrondissement on Rue Paradis. People there know someone who works in your office. A Mr Tanaka. Do you know him?"

"Oh, Ken?" Emma interrupted. "I call him Mr Nervous. I'm always worried he's about to have a messy problem." She shuddered at the thought. "How about a toast?" proposed Emma with a happy smile as everyone received their wine. "To friends."

Brittany lifted her glass. "And to family."

"True friend's, and family," Santana raised her glass to Will.

Will half heartedly moved his arm in a gesture that if you squinted could be construed as a toast. Santana stared at him while he kept nervously glancing over at Brittany. Emma passed Brittany a dish of vegetables while Will and Santana stared at each other.

"We got to the bottom of it, Will," Santana broke the façade. "We know everything. I hope you're not involved in this shit."

"What's going on?" Emma asked nervously.

"This is not the time or the place," Will said, his eyes fixed on Santana.

"Are you involved?" Santana asked.

"What are you talking about?" Emma said, sounding worried now and well aware of the tension racking up.

"Emma," Brittany took it upon herself to explain. "Your husband takes bribes from a sex trafficking gang who kidnap, drug, rape and sell young women. Would you pass the carrots, please. Now, answer the question, Will," Brittany said softly.

Somehow that gentle voice was more frightening than Santana's death glare levelled at him across the table. He placed his napkin on the table, his hands shaking with nerves. He tried to steady his breath before his piss poor explanation.

"My salary is X, my expenses are Y. As long as my family is provided for I can overlook where the difference is coming from. That is my entire involvement."

"What about my family?" Santana asked, coldly.

"I told you that I would help you as long as it didn't cause trouble for me."

"Who is Jesse Saint-James?" Santana asked him.

Will remained silent staring grimly at the bowl of carrots in front of him.

"I'm getting real tired of this, Will. If you don't tell me I'm just gonna go take this glass of wine, great choice by the way Emma, and sit over on your comfy couch with my feet up while Britt speeds this up."

Will jumped up from his seat brandishing the pistol he had concealed under his jacket. Santana remained still apart from raising her eyebrows at the development and leaning back in her chair casually. Brittany frowned and pouted. Emma gasped.

"I don't know and I don't care!" Will shouted at Santana. "I am driving you two to the airport!"

"Will!" Emma looked stricken.

"Shut up, Emma!" He waved the gun between the two women. "Lets get going!"

"I'm not finished yet," said Brittany, swirling her wine around in the glass.

"Yes, you are."

Santana and Brittany stood simultaneously.

"No, we're not," Santana said with a snarl. She held out her hand and dropped a handful of bullets to the table where they clattered uselessly. Wide eyed Will began to frantically pull the trigger at his fingertip but his gun clicked uselessly. Santana pulled out her own gun and aimed it at him.

"That's what happens when you sit behind a desk Will. You forget things." Will dropped his gun and grimaced with frustration as he stared at the gun now pointed at him. "Like the weight of a gun that's loaded and one that's not."

Brittany pulled out another pistol and casually aimed at Emma and fired. The bullet hit her left arm and Emma jolted backwards off the chair to the floor with a cry.

Will went to run to her immediately but decided to freeze in place as Brittany pointed the gun at him.

"You asshole," he yelled.

"Jesus, Britt," said Santana under her breath.

"It's a flesh wound," she explained. "But my daughter is missing, Will, and if you don't tell us what we want to know the last thing you will see before I make your children orphans is the shot between her eyes. Now, Santana asked you a question. Jesse Saint-James?"

She pointed her gun at Emma again. Emma stared at her holding her arm tears running down her face. "Sorry," Brittany mouthed at her while Will grabbed at his hair in desperation.

Santana brought her gun up to Will as well.

Will typed away at his computer with Santana breathing down his neck. Behind them on the couch Brittany wrapped Emma's arm with bandages.

"I'm sorry," she said as she gently tied up her arm in a sling. "I didn't know what else I could do."

Emma stared at her her face blotchy and covered with dried sticky tears noticing the fear and worry in Brittany's eyes only a mother could.

"I'm thinking about getting a divorce," Emma confided in her, her words shaky.

"He is an asshole," Brittany nodded. "Friendly tip. Don't divorce him if he's your soulmate."

"How could he do something like that?" Emma sobbed.

"There," said Will, sullenly, as the police file on Jesse Saint-James came up on the computer screen with a photo and address.

"You could have made this a lot less painful if you had been more concerned about my daughter and less about your goddamn desk."

"How long has Brittany been back in the game? Why weren't we informed?" Will had the nerve or stupidity to ask.

"None of your damn business," Santana snarled then pistol whipped Will in the face as went for her. He slumped onto his keyboard. Brittany hoped he'd wake up with the keys imprinted on his face.

Outside the Schuester's apartment building Santana and Brittany strode along the street intent on their destination following the route marked on Santana's phone.

"Three minutes for him to crack like a crispy piñata, you were right," said Brittany.

"Still got it," Santana blew on her nails.

"I thought he'd last at least five. It was kind of pathetic."

"He might have if you hadn't been there. I don't think he ever got over the Tangier incident when it comes to you."

Brittany shrugged, "I am awesome."

Santana smiled at her. "C'mon, lets go. Can't keep the kid waiting."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Warnings for this chapter and the whole fic. Please be aware this is not my usual comedy fic. PM me if you want to know more before reading. Please note that I've changed the name in part 3 of Patrice Saint-Clair to Jesse Saint-James.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Thank you to Lulu as always.

I wasn't going to end this part here but I want to rewrite the ending.

Part 4

From across the street Brittany watched the party in full swing at the address Will had kindly given them after being gently persuaded to help. She adjusted her binoculars to focus in on the people visible through each window searching for the lucky Jesse Saint-James whose acquaintance she could hardly wait to make. Eventually she sighted him through a large window talking to a few dark suited men who appeared rather grim faced for supposedly happy party guests. She swung her gaze around to zoom in on Santana who was walking up to security on the front door trying to give the impression of a swaggering tit headed police officer. Brittany observed her as she reached into her jacket and pulled out Will's official ID card. The security man read the card carefully then flipped it over to the photo side. A photo of Santana looked back at him. If he had been slightly smarter he may have noticed that Santana appeared to be wearing the same clothes in the photo as she had on now but he let her pass inside with a disinterested dismissal.

Brittany looked around once more for Saint-James and had to quickly adjust the focus once she realised they were still optimised for ogling Santana's ass. She put the bins away and made her way around the side of the property where Santana was waiting to crack open a window to let her in.

They wandered through the lavishly decorated rooms of well dressed and well inebriated guests, Brittany reaching out and plucking a champagne flute from the tray of a passing waiter. She took a sip and offered Santana a drink. With a smile, she declined.  
As they worked through the groups of people looking for Saint-James Brittany recognised the familiar sensation of Santana's hand hovering near her lower back, guarding and guiding her through the crowd. Santana probably didn't even realise she was doing it.

They made their way up the wide set staircase to a higher level overlooking the main room. People leaned over the stone bannister peering down at the people below, expensive drinks in their hands whilst making idle conversation. A happy façade to mask the true purpose of the gathering.

"There." Brittany said, looking over Santana's shoulder at the furthest area of the landing where she could see Saint-James opened a door. She glimpsed a man acting in some kind of a sentry role through the door, a wire was visible running behind his ear. Saint-James exchanged a few words with him and then exited the party as the door closed behind the both of them.

With a flourish Santana opened the door and stepped smartly in front of the startled sentry with a charming smile.

"Can I help you?" he asked, politely.

"Yes. I'm here to see Mr Saint-James," Santana said smoothly.

"May I have your name, please?"

Santana held up her ID card for the second time. The man peered at the name and then checked it against a list of names he held on a clipboard. While he busied himself Santana glanced up to watch the elevator indicate it was about to return from its visit to level minus one.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Your name is not on the list," the man said.

"Oh," Santana looked puzzled. "Could you check again?," she asked politely.

Dutifully, the man looked down again. As he did so the elevator doors behind him opened and Santana jabbed him sharply in the chest shoving him backwards into the empty carriage. He froze at the feeling of a pistol digging in his gut hidden from view under his clipboard. She spun him around with a hand to his shoulder and cracked the butt of her gun onto the back of his neck. Brittany stepped in behind them before the doors could close and under Santana's instruction she pressed the button for the underground level.

They stood in a bemused silence over the unconscious body as elevator music assaulted their ears.

"What is this?" Santana asked, sounding horrified.

"I think it's 'Run Joey Run?'" Brittany frowned, listening carefully.

"Yet another crime against humanity," Santana muttered darkly.

The doors opened and they peered out cautiously into an empty marbled corridor. Brittany stepped out with her sidearm drawn while Santana huffed and puffed as she dragged the unconscious body out of the elevator by the feet.

"Don't worry, Britt," she puffed heavily. "I'll do it."

Brittany cracked a sunny smile, and rather a smug one too Santana thought, as she held open a door to a cupboard full of cleaning supplies for Santana to stuff the man into. Brittany shut the door and smirked as Santana adjusted her jacket and cricked her neck.

"I knew you had it under control."

Warily they made their way down the dully lit hallway dotted with dark wooden doors, their highly polished veneers belying their expense. Muted male voices could be heard behind the doors but they couldn't make out any of the words clearly. They turned a corner to find another stretch of hallway with the same furnishings and doors. A door clicked behind them and they turned to see a waiter step in their direction balancing an iced bottle of champagne on a tray.

"May I help you?" he asked them, curious to find two women wandering the halls.

"You certainly can," Brittany said with a flirty smile as she eyed him up and down.

Santana's jaw dropped open as Brittany stepped out from the door the waiter had originally appeared from dressed in her newly acquired white shirt, black bow tie and smart white waiters jacket. She regained her senses finally noticing that Brittany was now standing right in front of her and tried to focus for a moment on adjusting Brittany's bow tie.

Suddenly, Brittany shoved Santana away from her and she stepped back even further to conceal herself behind the corner as the door next to them opened and a man in a black suit with a slicked back ponytail stepped out into the hall closing the heavy door behind him.

"Your champagne, sir?" Brittany announced, quickly setting the tray on a small table next to the room.

"Yes, I will take it," he said in thickly accented English.

Brittany calmly removed the ice bucket from the tray and calmly threw the remaining metal disc like a Frisbee straight into the man's throat. As he stumbled back Santana wrapped her arm around his neck and continued to help hinder his breathing until he went limp in her arms. She looked up at Brittany who was looking at her expectantly.

"Why do I always have to do it?" Santana whined.

"I don't want to mess up the tux. It's hot!"

"Fine, but don't go in there without me," Santana scowled and began to drag away another heavy dead weight. What did these people eat? Oh yes, that was it, they fed off the misery and despair of others.

Brittany restocked the tray once more with the champagne and then with a quick glance in the direction Santana had left, entered the room the man had exited from.

In the small darkened room a lone man sat with his back to the door, a notebook on his lap, and on the small table next to him his hand rested next to a large red button. Brittany shut the door behind her and took a step closer to the curly haired man as he pushed the button beside him. Brittany stared out of the large window the man was facing at the front of the room through which she could see a scantily dressed girl standing alone on the middle of a spotlit stage.

As she stared a woman's voice came through over a loudspeaker.

'I have fifty thousand. Fifty thousand.'

The girl pushed her hair out of her eyes and turned around on the spot, appearing dazed and unsure of where exactly she was. She squinted at the invasive bright light shining directly in her face.

Brittany's brow furrowed at the sight of the unknown girl standing there in her underwear. Surrounding the stage more windows were visible with men sat behind them all watching the unwitting girl. Brittany's heart almost stopped as she realised what she was witnessing. A human auction.

In the room opposite she could see a man press on of the red buttons and straight after the voice over the speaker announced.

'One hundred thousand. One hundred thousand.' Then, seconds later. 'One hundred and fifty thousand.'

Brittany looked away as the girl looked around confusedly. She put down the champagne, the ice cubes clinked as she pulled the bottle out of the ice bucket.

'I have one hundred and fifty.'

"Your champagne, sir,' she said quietly, holding the bottle next to the man so he could see the label.

She eyed his greasy black curly hair and eyebrows big enough to sink the Titanic. He ignored her for a moment intent on the bidding.

'Two, I have two.' He pressed the button again. 'Two hundred and fifty.'

"May I serve?" Brittany asked him.

"Yes," he snapped with a flick of his wrist, irritated by the interruption. His eyes never left the girl he was bidding on. That was just as well or the look of loathing on Brittany's face would have caused him immediate alarm.

'Two hundred and fifty,' the speaker repeated.

On stage the girl staggered trying to keep upright. It was clear to Brittany she had been heavily drugged to keep her docile.

'Sold for two hundred and fifty thousand.'

Brittany watched as a handler came to lead the girl off the stage as she was obviously incapable of doing it herself. Meanwhile the man with the massive eyebrows picked up his phone and dialled. She placed his glass of Champagne on the table next to him as he began to speak hurriedly in Arabic.

The man hung up as a spotlight lit up the stage again capturing Brittany's attention. Again, a woman's voice came over the speaker.

'The last item. As usual, we save the best 'til last.'

Eyebrows downed his champagne in one gulp and handed the glass back without even looking at Brittany. She snatched the glass off him.

They both looked up at the words coming over the speaker.

'Speaks English, some French. Certified pure.'

Brittany busied herself refilling the glass as the last girl for the night was led out hidden under a large flowing cloak with a hood covering her face. She watched and poured as the handler pulled the hood off the girl's head.

Eyebrows gasped as Brittany spilt champagne all over him.

"Sorry," she muttered not sounding sorry at all.

"Get out!" He snapped at her.

Brittany ignored him, glancing over at the unmasked girl who had her back to them. She was dressed only in lingerie, her hair was loose and covered her face so Brittany couldn't identify her.

'The bidding will begin at one hundred thousand.'

The girl fumbled her footing and turned to steady herself her face finally visible to Brittany.

'One hundred thousand.'

Everything stopped.

Brittany couldn't breathe. Her heartbeat was the only noise she could make out in the world as it thundered in her ears. In front of her eyes Sugar was slowly turning around trying to figure out where she was, dazed under the blinding spotlight. Brittany could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

'One hundred thousand.'

"I told you to-" Eyebrows began shout at Brittany.

"I heard what you said," Brittany spat viciously at him. She shoved the muzzle of her gun pressed into his cheek until he sat back down.

"Buy her," she commanded him.

'I have one hundred thousand.'

Eyebrows hesitated.

"Buy her," Brittany growled at him unhappy to be repeating herself and jabbed the gun harder at him. He pressed the button.

'One hundred and fifty.'

Almost immediately the bid increased.

'Two hundred.'

She cocked the gun and he quickly pressed the button again.

'Two hundred and fifty.'

Another bidder put it up again straight away to three hundred then Eyebrows bid three hundred and fifty thousand as he wisely hit the button again without further prompting.

'Four.'

Brittany watched Sugar standing out there looking lost and forlorn and frowning as she tried to clear the fog in her head brought on from the drugs in her system.

'Four hundred and fifty.'

Brittany shoved the gun in the man's face so hard it left an indent in his cheek. He gritted his teeth and resisted, refusing to bid again. Brittany leaned over and pressed the button for him.

'Five hundred. Five hundred thousand.' The voice over the speaker sounded excited at the price. 'We have five hundred thousand. Sold.' Brittany's shoulders slumped at the relief of the result. 'That concludes the auction for tonight. Thank you all for coming.'

Brittany had eyes only for Sugar as she watched wide eyed as the handler led her daughter out of her sight.

'You can collect your purchases directly.'

"Move," snarled Brittany, grabbing Eyebrows by his collar and tugging him to his feet.

"You'll never get away with this," he said.

"If you want to live, you'll make sure I do," she said as she pushed him towards the door.

With the gun to his head she followed him out of the room unaware of the raised hand behind her until the butt of a gun cracked down on the back of her skull. She slumped face down on the floor knocked unconscious.

Brittany woke to murmured voices and a dull throb in the back of her head. Dark blurs moved across her vision. One got bigger and bigger until Brittany's vision cleared and she squinted at a perfectly manicured Jesse Saint-James holding Santana's I.D. card up to her face.

"Now, Ms...?"

Brittany's head lolled to the side she took her time taking in her surroundings ignoring the impatient man in front of her. She was in a spartan, brightly lit boiler room with her arms slung over a warm overhead pipe, her hands secured with handcuffs. To Brittany's right and slumped on the metal walkway was Santana, also cuffed to the railing. She was unconscious, her dark hair was matted with blood at her left temple and a dried trickle of blood was visible where it had run down the side of her head in front of her ear and down her neck.

Brittany rolled her head back wincing at her bruised neck muscles to find Saint-James waving the I.D card in her face. Anyone acquainted with her would realise in a heartbeat that the blank look on her face would be ringing blazing alarm sirens.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?" He asked, his head angled at a cocky jaunt. "Pay attention when I'm speaking to you. Now, we know that neither of you are this man." He picked at the photo of Santana that had been carefully stuck over Will Schuester's face until it peeled away. "As your companion is incapacitated right now, I ask you... to whom do we owe this pleasure?"

Brittany ignored him and brazenly eyed up the four men Saint-James had with him. Three in front and one breathing down her neck from behind.

"Well," he sighed at the lack of response. "It doesn't really matter what we call you," he shrugged. "What matters is what you are doing here. So, do you mind putting us out of our misery?"

Brittany opened her mouth to speak but found her throat dry and began to cough. Saint-James stepped back in disdain as Brittany licked her lips and wet her mouth to enable her to speak.

"The last girl," she croaked. "I'm her mother."

Brittany witnessed a flash of anger cross his face, Saint-James was furious. It was immediately hidden with a stoic mask but his eyes remained hard and cold. He looked over at one of his men who stared anxiously back at his employer and was no doubt somehow responsible for the lapse in security that night.

"Give her to me," Brittany demanded, regaining his attention.

Saint-James stared hard at her. Judging from the fire in her eyes she was not doubt telling the truth.

"I wish I could, honestly. You see, I'm a parent myself."

Brittany's eyes narrowed.

"I have two sons and a daughter but let me tell you something Ms. Whoever you are and your mysterious companion, both of you unusually skilled in retrieving wayward teenagers..."

"My wife."

"That partly explains all the busted heads we found her with. Anyway, as I was saying, this is a business. Avery unique business with a very unique clientèle."

"I'll pay," Brittany offered desperately in her hoarse voice.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," he said nonchalantly, completely dismissing her offer. "In this business there are no refunds, returns, discounts or buybacks. All sales are final. Besides discretion, it's the only rule we have." Jesse looked from the unresponsive Santana to Brittany who was straining at her restraints her eyes blazing.

"Oh well. Kill them." He turned to one of the men behind him. "Quietly. I have guests."

Brittany watched Saint-James walk out without looking back at her, taking one of the men with him. That left three for Brittany and none for Santana.

As Brittany began to pull on her handcuffs and reassessing her options one of the two men in front of her stepped forward and nodded to someone she couldn't see. She heard the clink of a chain and tried to look over her shoulder at what was unravelling behind her. Her entire body tensed up as quickly as a whip as a length of chain was thrown over her shoulder and wrapped itself around her neck. Then the man behind began to pull on it.

Without use of her arms Brittany strained all the muscles in her neck to try to hold off the strangulation as long as possible. In her already weakened state her vision began to blur quicker than it normally would and she looked up in desperation at her restraints.

The pipe she was tied to looked solid but the support holding it not far from the ceiling was missing a bolt. Further along the pipe a join where two lengths met was being held together with rags. While oxygen was still on her side Brittany jumped up as best she could and let the force of gravity and the strength of the man pulling on her windpipe pull her back down. The shock of the extra weight tugged on the weakened strut and the whole support popped out of the plaster in the ceiling.

The poorly maintained pipe dropped low enough for Brittany to get a better grip on and she pulled down again causing the pipe to come apart at the half assed repair job. Brittany's unsupported half of the pipe dropped down further and cracked straight on top of the head of the goon in front of her. With her arms now moveable but still looped over the lowered pipe Brittany jerked her head back and headbutted the man trying to hold her back with the chain. His nose let out a satisfying crack as she introduced it to her skull.

Only metres away from the action, Santana grumbled incoherently at the noise disturbing her unplanned sleep but instead of waking up settled back up against the side of the walkway.

The chain fell from Brittany's neck and she ran her arms along to the end of the pipe until they were unhooked.

As the last man advanced on her she slapped at a valve on the pillar next to her which let a jet of scalding steam out of the fallen pipe right at face level. He screamed, clawing at his face and stumbled backwards becoming hidden in the expanding cloud of steam rapidly filling the boiler room.

Brittany spun around on her toes and with her tied hands clasped in a double fist swung her hands into the strangler's face. He staggered onto one knee and Brittany pounced on him pinning his body against the metal rail surrounding the walkway at waist height. She forced his head over the handrail twisting his neck until it snapped.

Twirling back Brittany grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall as the man with the steam pipe facial ran screaming out of the billowing cloud toward her, his face bright red and his skin peeling in places. His arms waved wildly, he hadn't been able to see where to aim the weapon now clasped tightly in his right hand. Brittany quickly slammed the base of the extinguisher into his face repeatedly until his momentum changed to backwards. Pumped full of adrenaline and pain he got up again, rising through the fog like a horror movie monster. Brittany threw the canister in her hands at his head and ran straight at him slamming his back up against the wall and forcing his hand to point the gun to the ground. She grasped his hand and held his finger down on the trigger shooting him in the foot.

Outside in the maintenance corridor the gunshot and resultant scream interrupted Jesse's conversation with his security manager. A pained expression crossed his face.

"Would you please go and see what part of the word 'quietly' they did not understand."

"Yes sir."

Steam pipe facial had his back pinned to the wall with the force of Brittany's body as they wrestled for control of his gun. Brittany determinedly forced his arm around, the man's actions becoming more and more panicked as she overpowered him bringing the muzzle of the gun up to aim at his face. Their eyes met as her finger reached over his and they pulled the trigger together.

Brittany kept the gun as his grasp loosened and he slumped to the floor. She tugged his bunch of keys from his belt and quickly unlocked her handcuffs while looking around at the steam billowing in every direction masking any more trouble.

Jesse's security guard opened the door to the boiler room. His final thought was one of puzzlement as his vision went foggy. His concerns shortly ended with a bullet to his head.

Strawberries.

"Santana?"

Strawberries on her lips.

Groggily, Santana began to stir. Around her the world was getting lighter but still her vision wouldn't clear properly.

"Why's there clouds? I'm dead."

"No, honey. You're not dead." Brittany's voice came croakily through the haze.

Gingerly Santana moved her head, the muscles in her neck still protested loudly from the clout they'd endured at the butt of a gun when the perils of busily stuffing henchmen's bodies in the supply room had caught up with her. She blinked slowly, finding a concerned Brittany kneeling in front of her to focus on. Thankfully Brittany wasn't blurry, but there was a disarming look of worry evident on her face.

"Wake up, sleepyhead." she said with a smile brushing Santana's hair back off her face and tucking it gently behind her ear.

Santana stared dazedly at the ruffled woman before her. She reached up and softly touched the red mark around Brittany's neck where the chain been used to strangle her. Brittany grasped her hand between both of hers.

"Santana, would you do me the honour?"

"Huh? Is this one of those dreams again because this is not okay, okay?"

"Listen to me, this is important. Jesse Saint-James is outside this room with the location of our baby in his bouffant and there's a bullet in here with his name on it."

"I do. I mean, what? Um, I mean, yes... always," Santana rasped, looking thoroughly confused by herself. Brittany chuckled as she tugged Santana up. As Brittany led her by the hand to the door through the steam Santana raised her free hand to her mouth, she could swear her lips were tingling.

At the far end of the corridor Saint-James jabbed at the button for the elevator repeatedly. His eyes widened as Santana strode along the corridor bearing down upon him. A lock from his perfectly coiffed hair stuck to his forehead where sweat had begun to bead upon his brow. He put his hands up as the women approached him.

"Okay, we can resolve this. I know how you feel. We should talk, okay?" He backed away until his back hit the closed elevator door. He reached over and pressed the button again, in vain. "We can work this out!" he squeaked as Santana ran at him with her gun drawn.

With a ping the doors opened and he stumbled backwards partly of his own velocity and partly because of the force of the bullet now embedded in his right shoulder. He remained on his feet but clung to the back wall with a moan.

"You have no idea," his voice was laced with pain. Santana didn't drop her aim and shot him again in the other shoulder.

"Where is she?" she yelled in his face now crumpled with agony.

"You don't understand," he whimpered. "Please try to under-"

Santana silenced his pathetic excuses with a bullet to the knee.

He screamed and slumped in the bottom corner of the car. His breathing was short and shallow and his face had gone bright red as sweat trickled down to soak his collar. Santana stepped forward preventing the doors from closing. She raised the barrel of the gun to his face.

"There's a boat, by the quay," his voice trembled. Santana's face was full of fury. "Pleash unerstan," his words had begun to slur. "Wash all bishness. It washn't personal."

"It's personal to me." Santana emptied the remainder of the clip into his torso then stepped back allowing the doors to close.

As they walked away they could hear a scream from the floor above them where the elevator doors had opened and a guest had spotted the return of the host to the party.

They waited at the back of the property where guests were returning to their cars to flee from the bloodstained party. Finally Brittany spotted the mighty eyebrowed man from the auction pushing a cloaked girl into the back of a car.

"There!" She didn't even waste time to point, she just ran. A split second later, Santana followed.

Their feet pounded on the street as they tried to keep the car in their sights. While the speeding vehicle had to, to an extent, obey the Parisian traffic laws Santana and Brittany ran straight across the flowing traffic causing havoc as drivers panicked and swerved to avoid them. Fortunately in this affluent region of Paris the river was only a few blocks away so they didn't have far to chase the car.

Brittany halted her sprint by slamming into the wall along the riverside with a breathtaking thud. As she gasped huge lungfuls of air, she looked down upon the river's quayside and could see from a few hundred yards away Eyebrows and two other men hurriedly leading three covered women onto a large luxury river cruiser. The gangway was pulled aboard behind them in a rush and the boat motored away without wasting any time.

Santana ran up seconds later and collapsed her body into Brittany, gasping for breath. She pressed her face into Brittany's shoulder and groaned at the ache in her lungs.

The car that had transported the girls to the boat remained parked on the quay as the driver lazily leaned up against the open door puffing on a cigarette as he watched the boat leave.

His cigarette dropped from his fingers to the ground and he followed soon afterwards as Santana knocked his legs out from under him with a sweeping kick. She sharply cracked his head against the car door and continued to angrily kick him until he stopped moving.

She turned to get into the car to find Brittany in the driver's seat.

"How did you get in there so fast?"

"Longer legs than you."

"Don't I know it," Santana eyed them. "Can I drive?" she asked hopefully.

"No."

With a scowl but not wasting any more time on protesting Santana resolutely fastened her seatbelt then braced herself as Brittany yanked the gears into reverse and pressed her foot on the accelerator. The car reversed at full speed back up the slipway from the quay to the main road and without hesitating Brittany backed out straight into the evening's traffic and span the car around with a sharp tug on the handbrake.

Santana gripped the door and the edge of her seat and gritted her teeth as the car swerved from left to right dodging terrified drivers. The powerful Audi effortlessly tackled the oncoming cars as Brittany sped the wrong way down the one way street.

"Fuck!" she yelled, as Brittany suddenly pulled onto the sidewalk to avoid a red light, thankfully bereft of pedestrians at the late hour.

"What was that?" Brittany asked her nervous passenger, casually.

"Nothing," said Santana breathlessly trying to slow her heart rate.

"Are you sure, because it sounded like you were commenting on my driving?"

"B, please don't do this now," Santana visibly winced as Brittany avoided a bollard at the last second.

"You know I don't like it when you comment on my driving."

"Britt, I love your driving. It's one of the reasons I married you, I swear. Does this thing have air bags?" Santana gasped as the car slid to a 90 degree angle via a handbrake turn to another road. "I adore your driving, I fucking love it so please drive faster so we can get to our daughter but not so fast that we die on the way because there aren't even any Jesus handles in here. Why don't they have Jesus handles in these new cars?" she muttered, trying to find something to grip onto.

"Jesus handles?"

"You know. The ones above the door so you can grab them and shout for Jesus."

Brittany peered over at the river running parallel to them in time to see their target disappear under a bridge up ahead of them.

"Jesus isn't driving this car, I am. Do you still get travel sick?"

"Wh-whould it make any difference if I said yes?"

Brittany chuckled and spun the steering wheel hard left. The tyres screeched but held fast to the tarmac as they turned off the main road and drove down to the lower highway running along the riverside.

"This is one way," Santana gulped and closed her eyes.

"I am going one way," said Brittany putting her foot down and now overtaking the boat cruising along nearby.

To her everlasting dismay Santana let out a high pitched scream as Brittany swerved around a brightly lit truck then slammed on the brakes. They skidded to a halt at a row of concrete bollards.

Santana tried to unclip her seatbelt with difficulty her hands shaking as she finally managed to get out of the car. They dumped the car not even bothering to shut the doors behind them and ran to the apex of the bridge to line up with the boats trajectory. They had about sixty seconds before the boat would be beneath them.

"Why didn't you fight for us, Santana?"

"What?" Santana shifted her focus from the boat to Brittany at the question from out of the blue.

"Answer the question."

"Now? You want to do this now?"

"We have sixty seconds before we're going to get shot at a lot and we may never get this chance again."

Santana stared at her ex-wife, windswept on the edge of a bridge in the dark of the night.

"You know what my worst nightmare was before we had Sugar? Before clearly this nightmare we are currently living in became number one. That you'd realise the truth. That I wasn't good enough and that you could do so much better. I was just waiting for that day. That day when you'd realise you didn't love me and that I didn't deserve you and you would see through me. I kept letting you down and it became obvious, even to me, that I was just disappointing you over and over again. And then you slapped those divorce papers in my face and it all came true." She couldn't look at that heartbreaking face Brittany was giving her so she scowled down into the murky swirling waters far below them.

"Why did you accept that?" Brittany asked. "Why didn't you fight for me?"

"I thought that was what you wanted!" Santana raised her voice in anger. "That the divorce papers meant you didn't love me any more and I didn't want you to be stuck with me if that was what you wanted."

"It was supposed to be a wake up call!" Santana was taken aback by the force of the yell Brittany aimed at her. She gripped tighter onto the bridge as the words battered her. "Some tough love. A good, harsh dose of reality but you just accepted it instead and that's why I am so fucking angry with you, Santana. I was so frustrated with you for continuing to take missions after Sugar was born! You were never around and you didn't want to talk when you were there!"

"Well you know what?" Santana shouted back at her. "It turns out the world becomes even scarier when you have a tiny perfect baby to protect. You're like the perfect mom always knowing what to do, how to stop her crying and make her smile and I couldn't... do anything without getting really freaked out I was doing it wrong or screwing up and upsetting her. I didn't want her to hate me for not knowing what the hell I was doing. So I did what I'm good at. I was trying to make the world a safer place. Locking up creeps who would dare breathe the same air as our daughter."

"She loves you so much," Brittany pressed her shoulder up to Santana's. "She was heartbroken when you stopped living with us."

"Why did you do it?" Santana spluttered, completely flummoxed. "That's a really crappy way of telling me to wake the hell up."

"You were pretending everything was okay and you wouldn't talk to me about it. You were just keeping it all to yourself and worrying about everything."

"If I didn't then that would make everything real, everything slip away."

"You're an idiot."

Santana stared at her completely gobsmacked for fifteen silent seconds. Brittany watched the muscles in Santana's jaw clench.

"You're right," Santana said finally, glancing back at the boat as it reached the far side of the bridge. "I thought I could do both, have the career and the family but I failed and I almost lost both of you. I lost you and Paris can burn to the ground for all I care, I will not lose Sugar today."

"You'll never lose us."

"Britt-" Santana's voice cracked. Brittany reached down for her hand and entangled their fingers. "If they've hurt her, I don't know what I'm going to do..."

They watched as the prow of the boat appeared from underneath them. Santana turned to face Brittany. "I lo-" The boats foghorn blasted out as it appeared from under the bridge. "I fucking love you, okay?" Santana screamed as they jumped.

They landed with a thud on the roof and rolled over to break the fall. Santana lay still on her back and looked up into dark clouds momentarily winded by the drop.

"Okay then," she heard Brittany murmur nearby.

Brittany got to her feet first, Santana close behind and pulled out their guns.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Her nose was itchy. Right on the bit between cheek and nose. And it wasn't just a little tickle kind of itch but the kind where you need a steak knife or a screwdriver to dig in and scratch it properly. Her nose twitched but the action achieved no relief. She scrunched it and wiggled it but still nothing. God damn if she wasn't so bone weary sleepy she'd move her arm and scratch it it. Oh god, that was itchy. Finally, upon threat of imminent torture by the itch, Sugar reached up and scratched her nose.

Her eyes fluttered but she was so tired everything around her was muffled and blurry. It couldn't be afternoon yet, she mused. She was always this sleepy before noon. Just a few more hours, she sighed and sank back, her muscles relaxing onto her cushioned seat. Besides, it must be okay. Her Mom would wake her up if she was supposed to get up for something, she was like her own personal alarm clock.

'Sugar, sweetie. Time to get up. You've got school.' She would say softly, running her hand through Sugar's hair. 'Come on, baby girl.' All nice and gentle and soft. A trick she'd picked up from waking her Mama for years. Then, if she dozed back off again, the threat of violence. 'Sugar, if you don't get up I'll call your Mami to come get you up and you know that's upsetting for all of us. Lord Tubbington wouldn't come back in the house for days after the last time.'  
Well there was no need for threats, sheesh. Sugar was no fool. She would stick a leg out from under the covers as evidence she was in the process of getting up. Over the following ten minutes Brittany would witness Sugar wake up this way, limb by limb, until she slid to the floor successfully out of bed.

Sugar sighed. Why was her room rocking like that? It couldn't be time to get up yet, was it? Mom would know. Mom? Mom? Mom...

Sugar's eyes flew open. She winced and shut them, the lights were bright enough to momentarily dazzle her even though her vision was hazy through the bright white of her robe... Robe?

She stared down at the fabric covering her arm in horror. What the hell was she wearing? She looked over at the two girls slumped on the couch opposite her wearing matching white robes and hoods so large they acted as a veil to hide their eyes.

"Oh my holy sweet baby Jesus in hell on a stick," she said in a hushed whisper. "I've been kidnapped by a cult. I've joined the KKK," she gasped. "Mom will kill me."

She plucked at her sleeve her face scrunching with distaste at the unusual garb. "Are you fucking kidding me? It's fashion week!"

One of the girls nearby stirred, catching her attention. She slumped back in her seat and played along as three men entered the room her alertness hidden by her veil. They each pulled a girl to her feet and held them by their arms leading them stumbling through corridors.

Inside the luxury river cruiser Eyebrows tapped on a door and then opened it. Inside a rotund Arab Sheikh in a silken robe was lounging on a king sized bed.

"They are being prepared, sir," he said, dipping his head differentially. The Sheikh gave a brisk nod and dismissed him with a flick of his hand.

They moved silently, their feet light and senses alert as they made their way to ladder to the deck below. Brittany was limping slightly after the jump from the bridge. Carefully they watched the deck below as one man leant over the railing smoking and the other wandered the perimeter whistling an unusual tune. The women exchanged a glance.

Swinging from from the rail above the steps, Santana kicked the smoker in the face. He immediately scrambled to his feet and ran at her with a shout but Brittany intercepted his charge with the heel of her palm to his nose, knee to his face and then quickly tumbled him overboard.

Meanwhile Santana had grabbed the second man in a headlock and quickly snapped his neck. She dropped him to the deck and turned to check that Brittany was unharmed.

"Smoking kills," Brittany murmured as she stepped over the body.

The three women in white were tugged through the corridors, their incapacitated state inconveniencing the men. The man leading Sugar let out a curse as she tripped him up for the third time. From under her veil Sugar could count three sets of feet and a full holster on the hip of the man leading her.

Eyebrows gave Sugar a sharp tug pulling her tighter to his side as he warily looked over his shoulder. He jumped closer to the wall as he caught a glimpse of Brittany moving out of his view through an exterior window.

He addressed the two men with him immediately.

"You, take them to the Sheikh. You, come with me." He reached up and tapped his ear piece. "We have an intruder. Search the vessel. Kill her if necessary."

An armed guard kicked open a door to a darkened room on the main deck and peered in pointing his gun ahead of him. Santana eyed the barrel as it came within inches of her nose, then, she reached up and sharply tugged it, pulling the man into the darkened lair. With a swift chop to the back of his neck she grabbed a handful of his hair and cracked his face into the edge of a sink. Seconds later Santana and Brittany exchanged a glance of shared bewilderment as another man sidestepped down the corridor in some amalgam of half squat half yoga stance. His eyes were wide with fright as he followed his shaky gun into the unknown. Brittany almost felt sorry for him for a second. But not quite. Shaking her head, she stepped out right in front of him and slammed the butt of her gun into his face. As he tumbled to the ground she grabbed his gun and flicked the safety off.

They made their way to a luxurious wooden panelled living quarters ever closer to their destination. Santana held up an arm halting Brittany as she spotted another guard, this one with a semi automatic machine gun, yey, stalking his way toward them. With their backs to the wall they watched his reflection as he got close enough for Santana to fling her elbow out from around the corner and into his nose. He fell backwards firing wildly into the ceiling his finger jammed on the trigger with panic. Santana stuck her arm around the corner again and fired at him until he stopped flailing and fell silent.

"You take port side, I'll go starboard. I want the Eyebrows," Brittany said cryptically.

"Huh?" Santana grunted, her brow furrowed. "Is that code?"

"Grease slicked hair and slug brows. You'll see."

Santana watched as Brittany disappeared back the way they'd come from to find an alternative route through the cruiser. With her back to the wall she took a moment to catch her breath. Seconds later her eyes widened and she scrambled to raise her weapon only be surprised by Brittany's swift return. Her arm dropped uselessly to her side as Brittany shoved her back against the wall and kissed her hard.

Santana's mind melted out of her ears and trickled into a puddle on the floor along with her heart. She was oblivious to the world around her. She didn't even open her eyes at the sound of a gunshot when Brittany raised her right arm and fired at a guard who had run around the corner, mid kiss.

While Brittany peeled herself off her ex-wife, Santana's jaw was frozen open, her chest heaving, her eyes closed. Brittany smoothed Santana's shirt back down, brushing out the creases she'd caused by clenching the material with her fist. She looked up at Santana who was now staring, stupefied, at her, eyes half lidded and her jaw slack.

"I'm sorry," Brittany said all of a sudden. "I shouldn't have done that."

"What?" Santana croaked. "Why not?" She looked absolutely stricken and the dopey look on her face disappeared in an instant.

"I shouldn't distract you."

"I don't mind," Santana blurted quickly.

"Head back in the game, Santana," Brittany said with a wink. Santana licked her lips then swallowed hard as she watched Brittany walked away again. "Be careful," Brittany warned over her shoulder.

"Right," Santana cleared her throat. "Right. You too. Right... right. Where?... phew... um... Sugar. Sugar! Yes."

Santana lifted her gun to shoulder height and entered the next section of corridor, ears strained for oncoming guards.

Eyebrows stood in the lobby in front of the master bedroom with two more armed guards by his side. They had heard the rapid gunfire and were anxiously awaiting instructions.

"Come in," Eyebrows called on his comm device for the umpteenth time but still no one answered. "Check that way," he ordered one man. "Find them," he said to the other. As they left him he fell back to the Sheikh's door to await the inevitable arrival of the mother.

An armed goon stalked up to a door with a porthole shaped window offering a view into the next section of the cruiser. He pointed his assault rifle against the glass and squeaked the muzzle against the pane as he moved it to the side so he could observe the next area. It appeared clear fort he time being until a pistol whipped up from below the window and fired into his face, shattering the pane of glass and embedding the bullet in his brain.

Santana cursed as she tried to push open the door with the body now blocking it. She made sure to slam his lifeless head hard against the wall as she squeezed through the gap.

"Asshole."

At the far end of the corridor another man appeared and then disappeared just as quickly. He jumped back for cover, as startled by her appearance as she was by his. Sticking his arm around the corner he fired blindly at her as he backtracked for cover.

With the stupid dead asshole blocking the door she'd just come through Santana shot at the window next to her piercing the glass. The pane cracked but didn't shatter so she elbowed the glass into shards and threw herself through the gap into a lounge room. The man entered the room from his end of the corridor and continued firing at her. Santana jumped over a couch and flattened herself to the floor as the shooter wildly sprayed bullets at everything in the room. The hail of bullets tore through expensive paintings, shredded cushioned furniture, smashed mirrors and blew chunks of woodchip out of the wall all raining down upon Santana. She peered through the gap under the couch and all the way under the coffee table and another armchair which all blocked the man's view of her. Santana, however, got a lovely uninterrupted shot directly at his feet. She fired twice and he fell immediately.

Outside the Sheikh's door his chief bodyguard stood nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, cradling his weapon as he guarded the door. To his horror the door behind him opened and his boss stuck his head out. Eyebrows immediately backed into the room forcing the curious Sheikh away from the door.

"It's safer in your room, Excellence," he pushed the man back and closed the door behind them.

"What's going on?," the Sheikh demanded. "Who is it? Answer me, Blaine," he ordered.

"The girl's mother. She wants her back." The Sheikh glared angrily at his chief guard as though it was his fault.

"I'll get rid of the bitch," Blaine said with a bow.

He opened the door again and carefully exited the suite. Stealthily he moved towards the noise of gunfire and shouting further along the boat. So keen was he on the noise up ahead he didn't notice Brittany step out from a doorway and follow him.

Santana pushed herself up from behind the sofa and dusted off broken glass and chunks of plaster. Her dark hair was streaked with dust from the walls.

The main door burst open again and a man ran in firing at her. Santana scrambled backwards tripping over her own feet in haste and backed into the small bathroom off the main lounge. She got behind the door frame as the bullets rapidly punctured the thin walls then began to fire back hitting him once in the neck.

"Such bad shots," she muttered as she pressed her hand to her side and winced. Santana watched with alarm as the handle of the bathroom door opposite her jiggled then turned. She glowered as an arm snaked its way through the gap holding a gun. She threw her weight against it jamming the arm in the door then snapped the man's wrist. Using the broken limb she turned the pistol back on its owner and fired through the wooden door.

Santana made her way back to the lounge and leaned one arm against the door frame. She scrunched her nose and winced as she took a deep breath. Behind her in the bathroom the body of the guard lay on the ground at an awkward angle, only his unnaturally twisted arm over the threshold. At the main entrance two bodies lay one top of another.

"That's how we do it Lima Heights," she said as she surveyed the carnage of the destroyed lounge.

"There can't possibly be any more people on this frickin' boat," Santana muttered to herself not noticing she was favouring her left side as she cautiously made her way across a lobby to the door of the master suite.

Santana pushed the door wide open to reveal a decadently decorated bedroom. She had no interest in the furnishings only having eyes for the two people staring back at her from the centre of the room. The Sheikh was trembling just as much as the girl he was using as a human shield. Sugar gripped tightly onto the meaty arm wrapped around her neck trying to push away the golden curved knife held to her throat.

"Drop the gun," said the Sheikh, his beady eyes were narrowed anxiously.

Santana didn't even blink as she looked him dead in the eye, her face a picture of composure and control. Calmly she raised her gun and took aim. Sugar closed her eyes and held her breath.

"We can neg-"

Santana pulled the trigger.

Sugar stumbled hurriedly away and watched aghast as he tumbled to the floor, blood trickled from the entry wound directly in the centre of his forehead.

Slowly Santana dropped her arm to her side, her hand quivering uncontrollably.

Looking over at her mother, Sugar began to shake. She let out breathy sob and straight away upon hearing the sound Santana took three large strides and swept her up in her arms.

"Mom?" Sugar asked in a squeaky disbelief. "Mom?"

"Shhh, it's okay, baby. I got you."

"Mama?" She gulped, reverting to the name she used to call Santana when she was little. She tried in vain to hold back her tears as she realised, "You're here. You came for me." Sugar gripped her mother's shoulder so tightly her fingers went white. "You came for me," she repeated. Sugar pushed away from her mother for a second, to Santana's alarm, and looked her up and down in disbelief.

"Of course I did," Santana tugged her back into her embrace. "I promised you, didn't I?" Sugar buried her face in Santana's neck, her body shaking with shock and relief. "I will always, always come for you, Sugar. I swear it."

The tangible evidence of Sugar safely in her arms meant that Santana could finally allowed relief to course through her body. It started from her head, loosening the tension in her shoulders and chest that had kept her on edge for days. Santana kissed her hair over and over again making the girl melt into the safety and protection of her mother's arms and allowing Sugar to finally break down completely.

Once Sugar had become coherent again Santana moved back slightly, not too far though, not so she'd have to let go, and held Sugar at arms length, not letting the girl out of her grasp as she looked her up and down.

"Are you, okay? Are you hurt? Did anyone hurt you?"

"I'm okay," Sugar's breath hitched still choked with emotion. "Except, I think I joined a cult. I swear I didn't mean to."

"You think you what?" Santana asked puzzled.

"I joined a cult and was about to be sacrificed to Jabba the Hutt and I did not chose this... this thing!" She flapped a loose white sleeve in distress. "This is crushed velvet. It's horrific and it's supposed to be fashion week."

Santana laughed and hugged her close. "Oh baby girl, how I've missed you. It's okay, sweetie. You've done nothing wrong. I love you."

"I love you, too," Sugar mumbled into her shoulder.

From elsewhere on the boat the sound of a grown man screaming reached their ears. Santana looked down as Sugar tensed in her arms as and smiled reassuringly at her daughter.

"It's okay. They're with me."

"What?" Sugar looked worried.

"I've got a surprise for you. My partner, my old agency partner, is here. We used to do this stuff all the time back in the day."

Sugar looked uneasy and burrowed closer to Santana as another scream rang out only to be cut off mid flow and then ended with a thud.

"It's okay," Santana whispered in her hair. "That'll be her now. As soon as she heard what happened she insisted on coming to help find you. I'd love for you to meet her. I think you'll really like her."

Blaine crept along the shot up corridor stepping over the body of a fallen colleague. The boat had not long gone quiet, the gunfire had stopped. He hoped that meant the bitch was dead.

In the silence he heard the sound of broken glass crunch under someone's feet behind him. He spun and fired in the direction the sound had emanated then ran to hide behind a partition wall.

Brittany fired at the glass partition and then jumped through it landing on top of Blaine where he was crouched. They both tumbled to the floor losing their guns in the scramble. Brittany grabbed him by the slicked back hair with one hand and punched him in the face with the other. His nose cracked under her fist then the back of his skull crunched the broken glass lying under them scattered all over the floor.

Blaine scrambled to free his arm pinned under Brittany's leg and released a flick knife mounted on his wrist, hidden by his sleeve. He stabbed it into her left bicep, Brittany growled at the surprise attack and crossed her forearms using them as a press to force his knife arm back towards his face.

Blaine kicked up with his knees and using the momentum flipped Brittany up off his torso. She had no choice but to continue the momentum over his head in a somersault. Without faltering Brittany finished the move by ending up rising straight onto her feet.

Immediately Blaine was upon her slashing at her face while Brittany hurriedly tried to deflect him by hitting out at his forearm. The ferocity of his attack drove her back and he landed a slicing blow at her stomach cutting through her clothes, the fabric quickly becoming wet. Brittany snarled angrily and fiercely elbowed him in the gut. While he gasped for his missing breath she spun him around and jabbed him in the kidneys from behind. She kicked at the back of his knee and hit his shoulder so he collapsed onto his knees leaving it easy for her to grab him by the skull and hit his head against the wall.

Blaine forced himself to his feet and kicked backwards at Brittany sending her staggering away. He ran at her slashing his blade at her neck and face. She had no choice but to fall back swatting away his arm until he switched tactics and grabbed her by the arm and threw her into the wall. She snatched at the door handle next to her and they fell through the open door into another room.

Brittany snatched up a wine bottle from the collection stored in the new room and smashed it against the edge of a table. She mimicked Blaine's combat ready stance, him with his blade and her with custom half bottle ready.

Blaine scoffed at her makeshift weapon. His smirk turned to condescending sneer as he eyed her bruised face, scratched skin, tattered clothes and they way she rested her weight onto one leg.

"You ever heard of the combat school of Lima Heights?" Brittany stared him down. His smirk faded. "You're about to." She lunged at him.

They slashed their weapons at each other, Brittany faster and more graceful with her movements. Seeing an opening she took it and carved down her bottle into Blaine's knife arm. He screamed in pain and wildly struggled to retreat. Brittany pulled back and slashed his face with the glass turning his body away then swung her arm back around and drove it into his gut. She loosened her grip on the embedded bottle as he doubled over groaning in agony and instead reached for his knife arm. With a sharp twist she bent his arm back, cracking his shoulder out of its socket and snapping the bone. The resultant scream could be heard from the shore.

Brittany tapped him one last time lightly on the back of the neck and breathed out a sigh of relief as he fell face forward onto the ground with a thud and shuddered uncontrollably for a few seconds.

Brittany climbed over Blaine's still form making sure to step on his hand which still had his blade tied to it. The bones in his fingers cracked under the pressure of her boot but he remained silent this time.

Snatching a pistol up from another fallen guard, Brittany made her way to the master bedroom.

"The one who got married?" Sugar asked with a modicum of suspicion at the smile on Santana's face. "Who did she marry?"

Santana looked down at Sugar's face taking in the familiar features. She had Brittany's nose and almond shaped eyes and Santana's brown eyes. Santana chuckled and kissed Sugar on the head.

"Me," said Santana.

"Her," came Brittany's voice from the doorway.

Sugar turned to find her mother staring at her in wonder, her cheeks wet with tears. Sugar's jaw dropped. "Mom?"

"Hey, baby."

Santana gently pushed a dazed Sugar in Brittany's direction and she fell from the arms of one parent to another.

"What's happening?" Sugar mumbled, gripping onto Brittany as though for dear life.

"Your mom is the biggest, baddest most badass kickass agent there has ever been," Santana said, unable to hide the adoration in her voice as she watched the two of them together. "She makes stone cold crime lords cry. The underworld trembles in fear when they hear her name." Their eyes met over Sugar's head and they exchanged a relieved smile.

"Her name Brittany?"

"Codename: The Unicorn," Santana explained.

"Oh my god," Sugar mumbled into Brittany's shirt. She pulled her head back and looked closely at Brittany. Her ponytail was half out, there was blood spots up her cheek and her right eye was beginning to swell. She looked down at the shredded remains of her sweater and the large bloodstain on it.

"It's okay, it's not my blood," Brittany assured her. "Not most of it anyway." Sugar just stared at her until Brittany asked with worry. "Are you all right, Sugar?"

"I'm okay," she sniffled. "The dead beached whale is kind of creeping me out though." Santana kicked the Sheikh in disgust pushing his leg out of Sugar's eyesight. At the reminder of what she'd had to put up with for the past few days Sugar's lip began to tremble and she burst into tears. Santana held her from the other side of the hug and they sat her on the edge of the bed and held her until she calmed down.

"Is she okay?" Brittany asked Santana over her head.

"She says so," said Santana, gently stroking Sugar's hair.

"Sugar, let me check you," Brittany nudged her. Santana pulled her onto her lap and held her close while Sugar had to put up being treated like a five year old being inspected for new clothes by her mother.

Sugar looked in awe from one badass mother to the other. "What's your codename?" she asked Santana.

"Snixx," said Santana. Brittany gave her a watery smile over Sugar's head.

"Who's driving the boat?" asked Sugar with a thoughtful frown.

"No one, sweetie. I stopped the engines," said Brittany, taking off her torn jacket and placing it around Sugar's shoulders.

"So," said Santana, tugging Sugar and Brittany into another hug. "Are we all agreed that Sugar is grounded until she is is thirty?"

"Agreed," said Brittany.

"Agreed," Sugar muttered, her head tucked under Santana's chin and her forehead on Brittany's shoulder. "I missed fashion week," she sighed.

Brittany smiled and kissed Sugar on the head then to Santana's surprise she got a kiss too. On the forehead but still.

"Score," Santana murmured, sleepiness suddenly sneaking up on her. "Heyyy. Why's it so dark in here?" she mumbled in confusion as the lights on the boat seemed to dim.

"Mama?" Sugar sat back and looked at her in concern. She stared in horror a the wet patch growing from under Santana's shirt. "Oh my God, she's bleeding."

Santana's eyes closed. "It's a slight graze. Ppsssh. S'all good."

The last thing she saw was Brittany and Sugar peering down at her in concern as her consciousness slipped away.


	6. Chapter 6

TAKEN

Epilogue

Announcements blasted out a regular intervals over the tannoy in the arrivals lounge at LAX. Businessmen marched through in suits firing off commands down their phones, families moved along in wide groups children darting all over the p lace. Santana adjusted her sling while she waited impatiently for her suitcase to appear on the carousel. As it approached she moved to capture it but a strong pair of arms got to it first lifting it effortlessly form the conveyor belt to the ground.

"I'll take it, Britt," Santana offered trying to grab the suitcase from Brittany's grasp. Brittany rolled it around smartly with one hand so it was tucked behind her and out of Santana's reach.

"You've been out of hospital for less than twelve hours, one of your arms is in a sling and you've got Sugar attached to the other," Brittany pointed out rationally. "I'll take it."

Santana looked down at Sugar who was tucked under her good arm and smiling happily back at her. Sugar reached out and took Brittany's free hand and they made their way out of the baggage area together.

"Hey, Pierce's!" A familiar voice called out through the small crowd at the arrivals lounge. They looked over to see Quinn waving and jogging over to them.

"Auntie Q!" Sugar squealed as Quinn grabbed her in a death grip.

"Oh my god, kiddo!" Quinn said in a strangled voice, holding Sugar so tight no one would have been able to pry her from her arms unless she let them. "Let me look at you."

Sugar nodded shyly and looked to the side at her moms who were watching over them. Quinn took a half step back and held Sugar at arms length and inspected her from head to foot. She nodded to herself and dabbed at her eyes.

Brittany chuckled and hugged Quinn while Sugar leaned back into Santana's good side and received a kiss on the head for doing so.

"It's so good to see you all," Quinn choked up again on Santana's turn for a hug.

"Thanks for everything, Quinn," Santana whispered in her ear as she squeezed Quinn as best she could with one arm.

"Any time."

Everyone was looking suspiciously emotional so Quinn grabbed Brittany's luggage and led them to the door.

"I've been told to inform you that the 'Puckmobile' is your chariot," Quinn explained as she led them to Puck's Humvee half parked on the sidewalk and half on the road at the door.

"What's that ball of lard doing here?" Santana demanded, staring warily at the ginormous cat seated regally on the passenger seat.

"He wanted to see Sugar straight away, obviously," Brittany grinned and leaned in through the window to hug him.

"Oh, yes." Quinn ran her hand through her hair, watching while Brittany and Sugar greeted Lord Tubbington. "Also, Britt, your house kind of caught fire. I didn't want to bother you with it while you were...," she cleared her throat, "busy. According to the fire-fighters someone left a fondue pot on and the cheese incinerated everything with in a ten metre radius of the epicentre. Everything is sort of okay, the downstairs is a bit crispy and there's an all pervading scent of smoked cheese. I packed a bag for you both and I'll take you all to Santana's."

"What?" Santana cocked her head to the side like she hadn't heard properly.

"What?" Brittany repeated in surprise.

"Cool," Sugar beamed.

Santana gulped.

Santana reached up and rang the doorbell.

"Where are we?" Sugar looked around the expensive looking neighbourhood with interest. It was a far cry from the Lima heights-esque neighbourhood Santana (and co.) currently lived in and different again from the beachside house she shared with Brittany. Sugar eyed the verdant palm trees, perfectly manicured lush garden, huge blue swimming pool and shiny white Mercedes convertible on the driveway with curiosity.

"I told you, it's a surprise," Santana replied with a smirk.

The door opened capturing their attention. Sugar's jaw dropped while Santana grinned unabashedly at her stunned reaction.

"Hi," said Mercedes with a smile to Santana.

"Hi," Santana beamed back while Sugar continued gaping. Santana laughed aloud at her expression of starstruck shock. Sugar looked to her mother. "When someone says hi it's usually polite to say hi back," Santana chuckled.

"Hi," Sugar squeaked obediently.

"Just enjoy the quiet moment because it wont last," Santana warned Mercedes.

Mercedes chuckled and turned to Sugar. "So I heard you want to be a singer?" She said, warmly.

"I do," said Sugar with a face splitting grin.

"She does," Santana insisted simultaneously. Sugar laughed and Santana looked a little sheepish.

"Well come on in," said Mercedes, stepping aside to let them into her mansion. "Lets see what you've got."

"Well, was that cool or what?"

"Don't say cool, Mom, but yes, that was so cool. I cant believe you know Mercedes Jones. And I cant believe we both got to sing with her!"

Santana chuckled as she pulled out onto the main road and beginning the journey through the LA rush hour traffic back home. "I hope she didn't get the wrong impression when you said you'd remember her when you're a superstar singing sensation."

Sugar smiled sheepishly. "She knew I was joking right? Not everyone gets when I'm joking."

"She knew. You've got your mothers sense of humour, that's for sure. So, do you think you still want to be a singer?"

"I'm not so sure... I mean..."

Santana looked over and smiled reassuringly.

"I love it and it was totally dope singing with a real live famous singer, but I just kept thinking about how much Kitty would have loved to have been there and met Mercedes as well."

Sugar looked away from Santana and out the window. Santana left her in peace for the moment giving her a chance to compose herself.

"I was thinking," Sugar cleared her throat. "Maybe I could take some self defence classes? And also, do you think you and Mom could teach me some stuff?"

"I can teach you," Santana nodded.

"Maybe if I knew that sort if thing already then Kitty would still be alive and you wouldn't have a bullet hole in you and Mom wouldn't have scars all over her-"

Sugar grabbed for the door handle to steady herself as Santana suddenly pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"Now you listen to me, Sugar. Combined, your mother and I have more bullet holes and knife scars on us than you've had hot dinners. They, every single one of them, had nothing to do with you. In fact, the only thing that is your fault is the fact that Brittany hasn't been shot at for seventeen years. Thank you for that, by the way. And I have been so, so careful about my work that the worst injury I've had in the last seventeen years was a nasty paper cut from all the extra desk work I've done to keep me out of trouble."

Sugar didn't look very convinced by that line.

"Hey, I'm telling you, paper cuts are the worst," Santana insisted, but Sugar just rolled her eyes. Santana reached over and took Sugar's hand, squeezing tight.

"It is not your fault Kitty is dead. It is not your fault you were taken. It is not your fault all of this happened. And if it happened again, and it wont, it still wouldn't be your fault."

"Will you teach me?" Sugar said in a small voice.

"Anything and everything you want."

They pulled up on Santana's driveway and Sugar waited, watching with unconcealed amusement as her mother checked her appearance in the rear view mirror.

"Mom, your hair looks fine. Why are you checking it?"

"I know it's fine and I wasn't checking anything."

"Ohhh-kay it's perfect... as usual. How do you get it to do that?"

"Hot genes. Don't worry kid you got some. Just as well, because this Lopez charm cannot be taught."

"Sometimes you're such a dork I wonder how you ever got my mom to marry you."

"Is the label in my top tucked in?" Santana squirmed, turning in her seat.

"Yes, and you look amazing. How did you even get a sling to match your purse?"

"I have contacts." Santana winked as Sugar got out of the car. "Wait, where are you going?" she asked worriedly as Sugar began to cross the lawn away from the front door to the house.

"Over Marley's, I don't think I can witness the Lopez charm in action without my eyes rolling so far back into my head I see behind me."

"But what now? You cant just wander off."

"Mom, she lives like four houses away. I promise I wont get kidnapped from here to there. You can even watch me to the door."

Santana frowned looking to the house and back to Sugar.

"You don't need me to chaperone you in your own home."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Santana blustered.

"Yeh, sure," Sugar grinned with a knowing smile.

"Don't look at me like that," Santana muttered, embarrassed.

"Like what? This is my face. See you in a while.," she began to walk away.

"Hey!" Santana called. Sugar turned back to see her mother standing next to the car looking a little forlorn. Sugar jogged back and hugged her. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, baby," Santana wrapped her up in a bear hug. "Don't be back late. And call."

"Okay. Be cool."

"I'm always cool!"

Sugar just laughed.

Cautiously, Santana tiptoed into her own house and down the short hallway trying not to alert anyone to her presence. Unfortunately for her, the only other person in the house was a seasoned secret agent who knew all about stealth.

Plus, she'd seen the car pull up outside.

"What are you doing?"

Santana jumped and spun around to find Brittany watching her curiously as she attempted to sneak past the lounge and into the kitchen.

"Nu-nothing," she said. "What are you dong?" she asked, noticing Brittany clutching a couch cushion in her arms.

Santana trailed along behind Brittany as she walked back to the lounge and continued fluffing up the cushions on the sofa Santana was using as a bed.

"I don't know how you can sleep on this couch. It's full of crumbs."

"It's a very comfy couch," Santana said, looking around at the thoroughly cleaned room. Her eyes widened as she saw the stack of small cardboard boxes laid out on the counter which divided the kitchen from the living area. "What's this?"

Brittany ignored her anxious inquiry and simply stated, "There are a lot of breadsticks in your cupboards."

"There's nothing wrong with breadsticks, Brittany! It's an important staple food."

"Santana..."

"Hmmm?"

"We need to talk."

"Oh? But I've got to... pick up some errands-"

"Sit down."

Santana's traitorous legs gave way and she perched on the arm of the couch. "Lord Tubbington is down to his last five tins of cat food," she tried to reason. "If I don't get more he might take out his hunger pangs on me."

"He'll live," Brittany dropped the final cushion into place with authority.

"What we really need to talk about is why that cat is still alive after all these years," Santana said, looking around for the Lord of the house. "Where is the portable footstool?"

Brittany raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Santana's lame attempt to distract her.

"Ha, only kidding," Santana said with a faint chuckle. "Anyone who tried to rest their feet on him would most definitely lose a leg."

Brittany ignored her.

"Sugar told me that since you moved to LA you've been on one date, to BreadstiX, and it was a total disaster. You introduced yourself as Santana Pierce and talked about Sugar all night."

Santana stared opened mouthed and began to splutter indignantly.

"There's no point trying to deny it. One of Sugar's friends waitresses at the restaurant... and I saw the surveillance tape."

"You bugged the restaurant?"

Brittany froze for a second then coughed. "Nope."

"Nope, what?" Santana smirked.

"Sugar brought it home told me it was a DVD I might like to see."

"She'd make a great spy," Santana half smiled, proudly then scowled. "Hey! It wasn't a total disaster..." Her outrage turned to a mumble.

"Nothing can ever be a complete disaster if there are breadsticks involved. Unless they ran out. That would have been bad. Its a big city though you'd think they'd be up on their supplies." She looked up and caught the look on Brittany's face.

"Anyway, you went on a date with the overeager golden retriever and he took you to some crappy French restaurant and you hate fancy pretentious food where they put two leaves artistically on a plate with a dollop of sauce and call it art" Santana's voice got louder and louder. "And the trout monger didn't even ask if you were allergic to shellfish" You could have died!"

"Where would you take me on a date?" Brittany said calmly, taking her by surprise.

Santana's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. "Whuh? Somewhere... romantic..."

"Like... Paris?" Santana snorted. "A cruise down the river, perhaps?"

"Or..." Santana scuffed at the carpet with her boot not meeting Brittany's gaze. "Watching a DVD with you and Sugar all piled up on the couch stuffing ourselves with pizza."

"That sounds perfect."

5 minutes later...

"Gross, old people. Get a room."

Sugar wandered in to the living room and threw her phone on the armchair across from the couch her parents were currently making out on. Brittany looked over from where she was lying on top of Santana pinning her to the cushions.

"I thought you were going over to Marley's."

"She's at a vegan rally. Have you seen my ipod?"

Brittany peered down at Santana who was staring dazedly up at her, not having noticed Sugar had come in and was dazedly wondering why the kissing had stopped. Brittany smirked and pecked her on the lips. Santana reached her arm up around Brittany's neck and tugged her back down until their lips crashed together again.

Sugar didn't even blink, and completely unsurprised by their actions, began to hunt for her mp3 player.

"Do you think Uncle Puck would let me learn to drive in his Humvee?" Sugar asked as she popped her head over the back of the couch and scrunched her nose up at the kissing going on. "Have you stopped for air yet?"

Santana groaned and pushed her away with a palm to the face without breaking the kiss.

The land-line rang distracting Sugar from any possible retaliation. She looked back at her parents and shook her head as they ignored the interruption. With an eye-roll and an exaggerated sigh she walked over to the phone where it was ringing angrily.

"Oh, don't move. I'll get it. Wouldn't want you to strain yourselves when you're so... comfortable."

"Yello? Who wants to know?"

...

"That's not a real name. Director of what?"

…

"Oh... Bitch, I might be. Which one?"

…

"Well they're a little tied up right now. If you catch my drift."

…

"That's right. Hang on, I'll ask." Sugar held out the handset in the direction of the still horizontal kissing couple. "I cant see two pairs of hands!" She shrieked. "No bueno! I am a minor!"

Four hands were half heartedly raised in the air but the lips never parted.

"Better. Some poison dictator woman says for you to stop making out on the couch and tell her what you have to say for yourselves."

…

"What?" She asked, holding the phone to her ear again. "Okay, sheesh. Says her name is Director Sylvester. What kind of a name is director?"

...

"What do you mean? Sugar is an awesome name."

…

"Oh, yeah? Well sucks to be you."

…

"No, you shut up. I have the phone, I'm in control of the conversation and if you don't stop yelling I'mma go all Lima-"

The phone was whisked from her hand before she could really get into the groove.

"Director Sylvester? Agents Lopez and Pierce. What can we do for you?"

Thanks for reading, reviewing, commenting, well wishes and generally supporting this fic. If you get a chance to watch the movie this is based on, 'Taken', I highly recommend it! And I'll forever associate it with Brittana now. Mission accomplished. Until next time.


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